#fast growing hedge

[bambooplantsforsale]

Why is Graceful Bamboo Such A Great Bamboo To Use For Florida Privacy? Graceful bamboo (Bambusa textilis gracilis) is an exceptional choice for achieving privacy in Florida due to several key factors. This versatile plant possesses numerous characteristics that make it highly suitable for creating natural screens and barriers:

1. Rapid Growth: Graceful bamboo is renowned for its vigorous growth rate, capable of reaching heights of 30 feet or more within a few years. This rapid vertical growth enables it to establish an effective privacy screen relatively quickly.

2. Dense Foliage: The bamboo's lush, evergreen foliage forms a dense wall, providing excellent coverage and screening. Its long, slender leaves create a graceful appearance, hence the name.

3. Tall and Upright Stems: The sturdy culms or stems of graceful bamboo grow upright, standing tall and straight. This vertical growth pattern helps ensure that the privacy screen remains tall and doesn't droop or sag over time.

4. Clumping Growth Habit: Unlike some other bamboo varieties, graceful bamboo has a clumping growth habit, meaning it doesn't spread uncontrollably. This makes it easier to contain and maintain within a specific area, ensuring privacy without invasive tendencies.

5. Drought Tolerance: Florida's climate is known for its warm temperatures and occasional dry spells. Graceful bamboo exhibits good drought tolerance once established, making it suitable for the state's weather conditions.

6. Wind Resistance: Bamboo's flexible yet robust culms allow it to withstand strong winds, which can be common in Florida, particularly during hurricane seasons. This resilience helps the bamboo maintain its structural integrity and privacy-screening capabilities.

7. Low Maintenance: Graceful bamboo is relatively low-maintenance, requiring minimal care once established. Occasional pruning to shape and remove dead canes is usually sufficient to keep it healthy and visually appealing.

By leveraging these attributes, graceful bamboo serves as an outstanding natural privacy solution for Florida residents, enhancing seclusion, adding beauty, and thriving in the state's unique environmental conditions.

[seolady1]

#hedges #uk #coastalareas #gardenideas #gardening #laurel #boundaryplants #evergreen https://hedginguk.com/ Minimum orders £150 + shipping fee, FREE UK Delivery on all orders of £300, or collect by appointment from our Lancashire nursery and meet our wonderful team who hand tend each individual plant. Read our helpful guide to buying the best hedge plant, tree, bush or shrub for your garden or landscaping project. Buy instant hedges in rows, all grown in the heart of Great Britain. https://hedginguk.com/ultimate-hedge-guide-uk/

#british #nurserygarden ☎ 01704 827 224 ☎ Mobile:07789 922 457 Before you start looking at different hedge species, you need to think about why you’re getting a new hedge in the first place. Are you trying to shield your private garden from a nosy neighbour? Are you looking for some shelter or protection for your smaller plants? Do you just want to add some colour and variety to your outdoor space? Are you a coastal garden looking for #salt resistant plants? https://hedginguk.com/hedges-for-seaside-coastal-gardens-salt-tolerant-hedging-plants-best/

Different hedges prefer different aspects and soil conditions, so you need to consider what plants would grow best in your garden. You should also consider how much work you’re willing to do in your garden, as some hedge plants may be higher-maintenance than others.

Here’s a helpful list of the main factors you need to consider before choosing a new hedge: Type of Hedge - Hedging plants can be divided into several broad categories, such as evergreen, deciduous, flowering, formal and informal.

Evergreen hedging is best for those who want a consistent screen or boundary all-year round, whereas a deciduous hedge is less susceptible to damage in very windy locations and sometimes preferable if you want a lower-maintenance, more decorative hedge. Similarly, flowering hedge plants are fantastic decorative options.

Formal hedges give a much neater appearance to your garden but require a greater level of maintenance and trimming. On the other hand, an informal hedge is more relaxed and easier to maintain.

[hedgehog-moss]

I know your blog focuses on Pampe, professional criminelid, but you’ve been focusing on your new garden (and you should rightfully be proud of it). Um, so what’s stopping your animals from munching on the fruits of your labor?

The beautiful fence that I built!!

My vegetable garden is outside the pasture, but I've left a door in the fence just in front of it so I can let the animals out sometimes to weed the area (under close supervision). You can see the opening in this pic:

My fence has been such a success btw <3 I know it doesn't sound like it because there are still occasional llama escapes, but that's because I've only built the Ultimate Anti-Pampe Fence along 2 sides of the pasture (which is roughly triangle-shaped). It took me two years to finish it but since completion it's never been outsmarted! The only time Pampe got through this fence was after a boar had boared his way through it first, which is not my poor fence's fault. It was designed to be Pampe-proof not everything-proof. And I refuse to count an instance of Pampe escaping through a hole made by a wild animal as Pampe defeating my fence, unless she can provide evidence of having personally set up a secret programme training boars for this job.

The problematic side of the pasture is the hypotenuse which still has the old, non-Pampe-proof fence left by the former owners—so the few times she escaped in the past year, it was from there. I've been playing the long game because there are lots of hazel trees growing there and they grow quite fast, so I'd like to fence this side with a hazel hedgerow. Pampe has so far never escaped through the (still-growing) hazel fence, not even in winter when it's leafless! However there are several Danger Points—gaps in the hedgerow here and there. I've been planting different kinds of flowering shrubs or evergreen hedge plants in these gaps to close them but this fencing method takes time. Especially since Pirlouit often tries to eat my living fence while it's still young. It's a fun project though; by now the woman at the plant nursery is used to me showing up asking for a new anti-llama plant for my hedge. Here's one of the gaps I'm trying to fill:

I have also been thwarted in my efforts to obtain a living fence two years in a row, by the city hall guy who trims roadside trees—he kept trimming my hazel hedgerow so it was like 1m50, and I kept desperately reminding him that it needs to be much taller. The next year he trimmed it so it was 1m70 and I was like, no. I need it to be taller. You know my llama. He was like, okay, how tall? Just tell me and I'll trim it at the height you want. I said, one hundred metres tall I don't know, she gets smarter every year! By the time she learns how to fly I need my hedge to be visible from space!

He no longer trims these hazel trees.

If I were a tour guide in a sightseeing bus I would be like, on your right ladies and gentlemen is a normal hedgerow bordering a cow pasture; on your left is the Great Anti-Pampe Wall. Kindly do not throw your chewing-gums over the hedge she might use them as suction cups to attempt the climb.

[charliemwrites]

Fields of Elation

Part 1

Rating: E Warnings: Dubcon if you squint

The garden has become a riot of color in the last week.

Native blooms in every vibrant color you could find, praying for pollinators to watch from the reading nook. The first butterfly fluttered in yesterday morning while you sipped tea. You could have squealed with excitement, aching to tell someone and denying the twinge in your chest when you realized who “someone” was.

You’re not thinking of him now. No. Absolutely not. Gardens are not for blood-soaked, violent men that smell like gunpowder and smoke – and neither are your thoughts. Your thoughts are to be as sun-soaked as the flowers, bleached out by warmth and light. Depthless, shadowless.

There’s soil dusting your fingers. You kneel in the flossy grass to plant wooden dowels, support for drooping stems growing too tall, too fast. You’re endeared by them, that they’re exploding with so much life that they need a helping hand. Perhaps you’re anthropomorphizing them a bit too much. This little recess you’ve carved out of the world is beautiful but lonely.

You hum a soft tune as you bow twine, some happy new pop song about summer. Heard it on the radio in the grocery store and haven’t gotten it out of your head since. The back of your neck prickles.

“Missed your voice, bonnie.”

You yelp as big, rough hands scoop you from the ground. Strong fingers grip your thigh, a wide palm supports your ribs, tugging you close to a thick, muscular body. The rough fabric of tac gear sands against the exposed skin of your stomach. You flail until your arms loop around broad shoulders, a chuckle rumbling into the hollow of your throat.

“Missed that noise specifically.”

You gasp air for another shout, but get jostled up into a fireman’s carry, wind knocked out of you. There will be no screaming for your distant neighbors this time.

“Put me down,” you wheeze instead.

“In a mo’, love.”

You grunt indignantly as the ground blurs beneath you, tools left behind as powerful legs tread the path back to your little house. Spend the disconcertingly short journey thinking of new things to call him, since you’ve been running out.

There’s a heavy wooden thump.

“Don’t kick my door!” you screech.

“I’ll fix the damn door,” he growls back.

Your head spins as you’re dropped to your bare feet on the wood floors, just inside the back door. Steady yourself on corded forearms to catch your bearings, then open your mouth to give him a dressing down he hasn’t had since recruit days.

But a hot, wet tongue slides against yours, curling expertly into your mouth. Dry, warm lips pressing hard. That same arm curls around your chest to gather you close; the breadth of him steals your coherence as much his kiss. Your venomous words are superseded by a soft noise, one that you’ll deny is the admission of pleasure he takes it as.

When he pulls away, you find your fingers curled in the muted green of his shirt, knuckles pressed against his beating heart. Its pace matches yours.

You flutter your eyes open, find summer blue gazing back. Softer than the grass you just knelt in, warmer than the sun in your hair. You swallow back surrender, blink away admissions.

“I was in the middle of something, you bastard,” you snap.

John MacTavish grins back, crooked and arrogant, the scar beneath his eye pulling. “It’ll keep.”

“Then so will dinner.”

His eyes light up. You curse as you realize your mistake.

“You gonnae cook f’me, love?”

“No.” You back away, but it’s like trying to outrun the wind. He manages to make your deliberate retreat feel like a choice he’s making, hedging you deeper into the house. Back, back, unerringly corralling you towards the bedroom. You know it, but you’re helpless to stop it.

“S’alright, you’ve been cookin’ enough, I reckon,” he drawls. “Don’t mind makin’ somethin’ fer you.”

If by “cooking” he means cobbled together snacks that level out to something like nutritional balance, then yeah. You’ve been cooking for yourself.

“Not enough ingredients for two,” you snark, eyes sliding away in a show of dismissal. “You’ll have to starve.”

He smirks, balancing you with hands on your waist when you bump the bedroom door ajar. Your stomach clenches up like you’re on a rollercoaster. Know what’s coming next but dig your heels in anyway.

“Nah, just gonnae eat now.”

Your mouth drops open just as he pounces, squealing as your back hits the mattress. The ceiling is decorated in fairy lights you forgot to turn off this morning. They twinkle brightly as John wrestles your dirty cotton “work” shorts off your thighs, leaves them hanging off one calf.

“Goddamit!” you shout as he tears through yet another pair of underwear. Nothing special, mind, but it’s the principle of the thing. They’re not his to rip.

“Gotcha more ‘fore I came home.”

That doesn’t make it better, you try to tell him. What comes out is a warbling moan as he buries his tongue in your pussy. Licks from your shamefully leaking hole to your already-throbbing clit. He grunts in reply, deep and rough in his wide chest. Drops himself onto the floor for better access, pulling your thighs over his shoulders.

Eats you out like this really is his first and last meal. Sloppy and wet and loud, audible over the sounds you try to stifle behind your forearm because your hands are still dirty. Get away with it for all of a minute (being generous) before he’s pulling back just enough to speak – even if it’s right into your cunt.

“No, no, no, we have a deal,” he growls. You whimper as his hands clamp down on your squirming hips. “I’m home now, you’re mine. This pussy, those noises, they’re all mine again.”

Your hands fly to his hair as he dives in again, tangling in dark, course strands as he laps at you like a dog. If you could rally the brain power to speak more than unintelligible sounds, you’d mock him with that imagery. But knowing him, he’d revel in the comparison. Would bark just to prove a point.

You can’t stand that you know him.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “My goddess.”

You arch as he sucks your clit, flicking the tip of his tongue over the bundle of the nerves. Thumbs massaging into the plush of you. Stubble prickling a bit; you’ll have to remember to tell him off for that later.

“Missed me too,” he continues, flat of his tongue licking a long stripe up your slit. Strings of your slick web between his mouth and your pussy. “Dripping like you missed me, anyway.”

“D-didn’t,” you whine.

He chuckles, the absolute devil, humming as he curls his tongue inside you. Doesn’t believe you, doesn’t even deign to challenge it. Just keeps fucking you on his mouth, groaning when your twitchy fingers tug at his hair. Doubles his efforts, any semblance of restraint crumbling as the time and distance overwhelm his usually infallible patience. Overwhelm you too.

It’s been so long – since the night before he last left. You’re oversensitive and touch-starved and John is a feast for your body and soul. Lose everything to the tides of lust, the current of ecstasy. Washed out to a sea of bliss, floating on awful need. Tilt your hips into the next swipe of his tongue, back arching, thighs tightening as you shudder.

“John,” you keen, “John, Johnny.”

He makes a gutted noise. One hand jerking from your hip to slide two thick fingers into you. Tears gather and rebel down your cheeks as he zeroes in on that sweet, achy spot inside of you. He is a man for whom mercy is scarce and he has none to spare for you, stroking and tapping relentlessly. Your peak rushes up frighteningly fast, voice lost in the shock of it as you clamp down.

He works you through it, savoring your orgasm like the first inhale of smoke in his lungs. Keeps licking and rubbing until your sobbing with overstimulation, trying to scramble away.

“No, John,” you warble, “t-too much, please!”

The sound when he pulls away is utterly obscene. If you had any room in your empty brain for embarrassment, you’d wish for the mattress to swallow you whole. You flutter your eyes open and stare blankly at the fairy lights as you struggle to breathe.

John’s kissing your trembling thighs like he didn’t just ruin everything all over again, whispering devotion into your beard burn.

When you manage to sit up a bit on shaking arms, you find him kneeling there. A supplicant to the alter of your pleasure. Ruthlessly handsome, war-torn. His chin glistens with your slick. You reach to wipe it away, but he catches your wrist in a deceptively gentle hand. Keeps his blown-out eyes on yours as he presses a slow kiss into the center of your palm.

Words bubble in your chest, too honest, even for you.

“My hands are dirty,” you whisper.

“Never.”

You curl your fingers around his jaw. Tell yourself it’s not a caress, no matter how he leans into it. “When did you get back?”

“Eighteen hours.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Gather your scattered wits. “You wore your damn boots in the house.”

He huffs with amusement, leans his forehead into your stomach. “I’ll mop.”

“You’ll shower first. You smell like travel.”

“You’re coming with me.”

“I have to finish in the garden.”

He scowls even with his eyes closed. You tap-tap-tap absently at his shoulder, where your hand has naturally come to rest.

“I’ll come out with you,” he grumbles.

“You’ll scare the birds.”

“Fuck the birds.”

You tsk, but there’s no force on earth that will keep him inside. “Mean bastard.”

He grins against your stomach. “Darling wife.”

Next

Masterlist

[frannyzooey]

On The Green: 1

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Mature (violence, slight gore, killing - typical Ezra 😌 — will be explicit in later chapters)

Summary: Two strangers meet.

a/n: New series alert! Man alive first chapters are hard, and so I am going to yeet this into the universe before looking at it anymore. I owe everything to @bageldaddy for educating me hardcore and for being so extremely kind and thorough, and to @the-ginger-hedge-witch for her Ezra eyes and inspiration and to @familyvideostevie for her support and enthusiasm and notes. It took a VILLAGE to get through this one. Enjoy meeting our stranger. :)

--

You come to surrounded by unnatural stillness.

An absence felt in the air surrounding you, there is something about it that tugs at the foggy corners of your brain, beckoning you closer to the surface. You try to listen for anything beyond the ringing in your ears, and there is…something.

A beeping sound emerging through the fog, its incessant chirping grows clearer. You blink slowly, your limbs made of lead when you try to turn your head. Instead of trying to investigate, you let yourself slip slowly back into the lush darkness, closing your eyes.  

But the strangeness of the silence tugs at you, and the beeping gets louder. 

Splices of memory come through in sharp flashes: 

The deep, bone-shaking tremble of turbulence. 

The grating sound of tearing metal. 

Beeping - so much fucking beeping, every sensor in the transport pod going off - and the whole cabin jerking to the left, your body weight pushing against the fabric restraints, your dad’s voice raw with hoarseness as he screams orders at you and –

Oh shit. Your dad. 

Your eyes pop open, and you sit up - or rather, you try to, but every muscle resists. Battered and bruised, you fumble at your harness with clumsy, shaking fingers. Looking up as it finally clicks open, you’re about to leap from the chair when you freeze. 

He’s there next to you, unmoving. 

Dead. 

“Dad?” you whisper. 

You can see without even checking for a pulse that he’s gone. That’s the feeling that pulled you awake, the vibration of life gone from the air. The stillness weighs heavy in the small space, and the beeping gets shriller somehow, more noticeable in the utter silence. 

The pod shrinks to a claustrophobic dome, and your breathing starts to come fast. Harsh, rapid exhales out of your open mouth and then you’re vomiting, right onto the floor. A cold sweat breaks out under your thermals, and you swallow hard against more bile that threatens to come up. 

There is blood splattered on the dash, pooled around the buttons. A deep gash gouged across his temple, his left eye already swollen beyond recognition. You stare at the dark, pulpy wound that runs with blood and with a heave, lose the remaining contents of your stomach. 

To have hit his head like that, he must have unbuckled and tried to fix something mid-crash, but why? Why the fuck would he do that? He knew better than that. You try to think about the sequence of events, but there is only a blur. A foggy, black spot in your memory, hazy images obscured by panic. 

You remember pieces: watching Puggart Bench grow smaller as you ascended through the atmosphere. The vague details of your father’s latest scheme, along with promises that this would be your last job. The frustration you felt at those words – ones you’ve heard a million times. 

You remember rolling your eyes and slipping on your headphones, and then scolding you for not paying attention after he jabbed you in the shoulder to take them off, and then…this. Somehow this. Guilt settles deep in your gut. 

Keeping your dazed eyes glued to the floor, you ignore the blood and beeping and the dead fucking body. You crouch low in the safety of your chair, winding your grip around the harness strap as an anchor and you sit for a moment, trying to steady your breathing. 

You sit. 

And sit. 

–

“Think she’s got anything left?”

The words spread condensation across the lower half of his visor, and Ezra listens for an answer he already knows isn’t coming. 

He always asks anyway: a constant dangling bait, in hopes his partner will bite. 

He hasn’t yet. 

Ezra bends back over the rough dug pit, his fingers splaying through the loose dirt. Anything worth digging for is sealed in his case already, but he stalls, thinking. 

He had watched the pod streak across the sky; the sight not unusual on the Green. Mercs and prospectors landed here every day to try their luck on the uninhabitable planet, but the speed in which the pod broke through the sky was unusual. Ezra could tell it was going too fast, even from the ground. His dark eyes had tracked the potential opportunity’s descent from behind the shield of his visor, and when the ground shuddered with the impact, he felt it through his gloves. 

If it had landed safety, protocol would be to keep his distance – no use needlessly engaging in a potential threat. However, he doubted that was the case after watching it fall to the earth like a stone. If he had to guess, the occupants were probably dead, and therefore, in his favor. 

His old pod flashes through his mind; nonfunctional and by now, probably stripped bare. If he doesn’t get there quickly to stake his claim, this one could fall to the same fate. It didn’t look sizeable by any stretch of the imagination, but he doesn’t need big. 

He just needs enough to fit one man, and his case. 

Ezra keeps his voice light and conversational. 

“Did you feel that?”

He looks up at his silent partner, and is met with a blank stare. Or at least Ezra assumes it’s a blank stare, with the man’s visor blackened. He can’t see his face, and has never been able to. He’s had many offers of partnership while on the Green - some out of desperation, some through coercion, some forced upon him – and though his current partner is one of the latter, he had been secretly pleased at the sheer size of him. Brute strength a valuable commodity; the hulking man is more of a utility than a partner. 

“Think it’s worthy of our time to investigate, or do you suppose there won’t be much left after a landing like that? If you want, I can go it alone?”

Met with more silence, both from his partner and from the unforgiving atmosphere of the Green, Ezra grimaces with annoyance when his partner starts to walk in the direction of the site without him. 

“Hang on now. We approach together.” Climbing out of the pit, the loose soil slips under his boots. He scrambles up as quickly as he can, unwilling to see his chance at the remains slip through his dirt-crusted fingers. 

“Now then,” he breathes heavily. “I think it would be befitting of us to use caution in our approach. The passengers may still be alive, and feeling panicked enough to pose a risk. I think –”

The hulk appears to listen to half of what Ezra says, and then turns abruptly mid-sentence, walking away. 

Snatching up his case, Ezra switches off the comm link in his helmet and his expression falls from tactful to annoyance. His eyes narrow on the man’s broad back, his fingers itching for his thrower. 

Grumbling, he follows. 

“Fucking idiot.”

–

You’re going to have to touch it. 

You wonder what it will feel like – stiff with rigor? Still pliant with traces of warmth? Heavy and impossible to move?

In all the ways you imagined you’d probably find your father dead, you somehow hadn’t thought about the logistics of actually moving his body. You imagined someone else would be the one responsible for it. Medical staff, most likely, who were used to the clammy skin and the stiff weight of death. 

Not you. 

Yet another thing you’ll have to do unwillingly for him. 

The reason you’re on this godforsaken planet in the first place, he’d forced you along to help him pay a debt owed for those fucking drops he relied on to get through his days. Days that bled into nights spent waiting for him, more his parent than his child. A freefall into the nomad life since your mother died, you’d been trailing behind him for years - an afterthought, only remembered when he needed something. 

A reluctant digging partner when he forced you to be, but also a navigator, a cook, a laundress, a caretaker. You were a lot of things to him, but never the one you wanted to be the most. 

Never a daughter. 

Your eyes slowly scan the disarray of the cabin, taking in the damage. For all the things he asked you to do, he had kept you in the dark when it came to any actual useful skills that might help you in this situation. Prospecting, digging, self-defense – anything that would have afforded you a glimpse at the possibility of independence – all of those were kept from your reach. 

Never a mechanic either, unfortunately for you. How the fuck you’re going to fix this thing, you have no idea. The manuals for it were tucked away somewhere, but they required at least a basic understanding, and you have barely that. 

You could stick with the harvesting plan he had vaguely outlined to you on the way here (assuming you could even find the gems, let alone dig them up), try to come back and fix your pod during the evenings (assuming you could even figure it out) and then try to catch the next slingback home (assuming you could even get off this planet). 

Your other option would be…none. There are no other options. 

The entire situation expands into something overwhelming, each step far outside your base of knowledge and your breathing starts to come fast again. You scold yourself, willing it to slow. 

Panicking again isn’t going to help shit. 

Wrestling with your emotions, you take a deep inhale and close your eyes, focusing on the first step. 

Before anything else, you have to move him. 

–

Through the edges of lush greenery, a pod. 

Ezra tries to tamp down his excitement, kicking his senses into high alert to scan for whomever it belongs to - but there is nothing. 

Fucking silence, the bane of his existence. 

Though in this case, a good sign. 

His own pod taken from him months ago in a standoff between himself and his former crew, this off-white piece of rubbish appears as treasure to him. It’s banged up for sure: one of the engines loose from the frame and the metal surrounding the bottom crumpled from hard impact. Unlikely that anyone survived the crash, anticipation thrums through him at the harvest in front of him. 

Keeping his expression measured, he beckons his partner to approach with him, silently advising caution. 

The idiot doesn’t though. Instead, he stomps forward and punches at the hatch button with force. 

Ezra frowns deeply, anger slipping into his tone. “Hey,” he reprimands sharply. 

The man pays Ezra no mind as the ramp slowly opens. 

–

One hand extended towards your dad’s shoulder, it hangs hesitantly in the air for a moment. Inching forward, you try to summon every ounce of bravery that you have and just when it’s about to touch— 

A loud thump sounds outside the pod, and your hand jerks back. Crouching low along the side of the pod, you crawl through the ship's scattered contents all over the floor and grab the thrower, trying to desperately wind a sufficient charge for a shot or two. The rummaging outside grows louder, and you crouch behind your chair, gripping the weapon in your sweat slick hands. Panic floods through your veins, the sharp stink of fear oozing from your pores as your body shivers with adrenaline, and you flex your hold on your weapon.

The door to the pod opens with a hiss, and two men emerge. 

One slighter than the other, which isn’t saying much—anyone would be slight compared to the size of the second man. You aren’t even sure how he managed to get into the pod, between the width of his body and his height. 

Rising swiftly, you point the weapon at them. 

“Stop,” you force out, trying to mask the tremble in your voice. 

The lithe man freezes, surprise showing on his face for a split second before disappearing. Tilting his helmet in thought, he speaks. 

“Now this is something I’ve never seen in all my time in the Green,” he muses with a drawl. “A little girl.” 

A statement, not a question, and you bristle while he continues to study you curiously. 

“Leave, or I’ll shoot.” 

Your finger flexes on the trigger, and he raises his hands in front of him. 

“Calm down, little bird. My partner and I merely ventured this way to see if all was okay after that crash we heard.” His eyes scan the cabin, a scattered mess. “Seems it was quite the landing.”

Shuffling your stance a fraction closer, you keep the thrower trained on them. “I’m fine. Now please. Go.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re fine.” He sounds completely unbothered, like you aren’t pointing a weapon directly at him. Taking a slow step forward, he peers around you. “Your partner sure doesn’t seem fine.”

“He’s not my partner. It’s my –” You freeze, scolding yourself for immediately volunteering information and his gaze drops down to your father’s lifeless form. The stranger's face sobers, and he looks back at you. 

His jaw shifting in thought, his partner seems to grow bored of the conversation and takes a heavy step forward, advancing on you. 

“Stop,” you try to order, panic creeping into the command, but he doesn’t. He keeps going, his large arm reaching towards your thrower. His massive grip choking the barrel, he rips it clean from your hands before you can even think about stopping him, and you crouch back behind your chair, trembling.

“My apologies for my partner, little one. He’s not keen on having weapons pointed at him. You can understand, I’m sure. Why don’t you come out from behind that chair and let’s talk. A deal, if you’re open to it.”

You don’t want to strike a deal with them. You know that any deal you attempt to broker on your behalf is going to be in their favor no matter what the conditions are. Your father never taught you the skills of negotiation – those were always done out of sight. Your mouth dries, sweat beading along your nape. What fucking deal could there even be to make that doesn’t end up with you dead? Or worse?

With so much happening in the last two hours, it’s hard to process anything, let alone a negotiation with deadly strangers on a hostile planet. How you handle this situation could be literally life or death for you, and you beg your brain to pick up pace. 

Please. Please. Come on, think.

Your mind still struggling but knowing you’re running out of time, you force yourself back up. 

“The deal was leave, and I won’t shoot.”

He only grins at that, and rage at the unfairness of it all flares bright through you.

“Besides, why should I believe anything you say? You’ll probably just kill me the first chance you get.”

“Why would you assume I intend harm?”

You don’t have anything to say to that, instead looking at his partner. Fear at his sheer size displays clearly on your face no matter how hard to try to mask it. “Why else would he steal my gun? Shoot me first before I can shoot, right?”

“If that was the case, he would have shot you already.” He lets a beat pass, his eyes narrowing in their focus on you. “Still could though, I guess.”

There is something behind the indifference in his voice, something in his eyes that begs you silently to listen to him — but then his partner raises his thrower, and several things happen at once.

You whimper, dunking behind the tattered chair. 

The smaller man whips his railgun from his hip, pulling the trigger.

You scream, and the bullet hits his partner square in the chest. 

The larger man stumbles forward as if to grab him but the smaller one shoots him again, the second shot landing in his gut. The force of the close shot pushes the larger man backwards, his heavy body slamming into the pod wall. 

He slumps down, collapsing into a lifeless heap.

There is a beat of weighted silence; your form frozen. 

The roguish man’s profile faces you: dark features partially obscured by the dome of his helmet, you can see closely shorn brown hair in matted disarray with a shock of white that smears just above his temple. Black eyes that glimmer in the fluorescent light, the edges lined with age. Tanned skin, a strong nose, plush lips under a mustache. 

He stares at his dead partner with something akin to satisfaction, and it turns your stomach to think of not only how quickly he resorted to violence, but also how much he seems to enjoy it. 

“Well would you look at that. Now we have two to move.” 

Still in shock, the violent scene in front of you startles you just as much as his nonchalance does. You watch as he turns to face you; a hooked scar marring the skin under his eye. 

“Now little one,” he says with seeming politeness. “You ready to hear that deal?”

[yiiyiiwrites]

🍁 | Autumn Equinox | Azriel

Summary: you’ve been mated to Azriel for over a year now, but it’s your first time celebrating the autumn equinox outside your home court. Azriel tries his best to make it a good one 2075words

Azriel x Autumn court reader

Also Have one for [Cassian] & [Eris] & Lucien coming soon

[Acotar masterlist]

The autumn equinox used to be your favourite celebration, now it just reminded you of everything you’d lost. A bitter sweet holiday you wasn't sure if you could do each year.

You may have gained your fated lover, your other half but you’d given up your home and family.

There wasn’t any other way, you knew that. The moment you’d stumbled upon the shadow singer in the golden forests of autumn was the final fraying thread snapping.

If you didn’t hurt Azriel by your own hands, Beron would make an example of you and use you in what ever way to break the bond. To snuff out any flickering ember that remained for your mate.

So you were as sly as a fox, crawling under the overgrown hedges of molten brown thorns keeping you in the court.

Your mother understood, she packed your things as sobs shook her whole body. Even now as you closed your eyes, you could smell the tendrils of her smokey caramelised scent and the undertones of cinnamon washing over you as if she were embracing you for the last time again.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. You opened your eyes, dark wisp falling away from caressing your cheek. For a moment you imagined the touch of your mother's hand warming your cheek.

Azriel sighed as you sunk into his embrace, his presence more frequent the days leading to the equinox. You’d refused to hold him the first few days after you caught the mark on the calendar, afraid your touch would burn him.

Velaris offered a similar bout of weather that reminded you of home. The nights growing longer, colder and you were thankful there was still a little scrap of heritage you could clutch onto.

Your magic however seemed to be like a fizzling firework in the night court. Touch running hot and cold, that you didn’t stand close to your mate for months as you got used to the warmer seasons.

The restraint you’d built since your arrival dulled your flames. You no longer needed to apologise for scorching holes in Azriel’s sleeve or slapping the fiery embers from the fabric a bit too harshly as you tried to it stop marring his skin.

In the beginning he’d gifted you a pair of leather gloves, but that increased the distance between you both. You wondered why the gods had strung you two together in the beginning, everything you were, summoned painful memories for Azriel. The simple action of holding his hand reminded you why, why you needed to cage the flame to offer him a semblance of the same affection he gave to you.

"I have something for you," he said, nose tracing your jaw and pulling you out of your thoughts.

The cold crept in as he slipped away, the winter breeze pushing the stray strands of hair out out of your face. You breathed in, another wave of smokey scents and sweet aromas tipped with oak prickling the warmth beneath your fingertips. Turning around to meet your mate, you took a step back.

In his gloved hands laid a whicker hamper, tartan blanket sticking out of the box. You gasped, adding another step back. No wonder you could smell their scents. "You saw my mother?" Your voice trembled, hands diving into your coat pocket, fists clenching as you tried to expel the overpowering scents that even mingled with his shadows.

He nodded, ever the cool and controlled mate, never raising his voice or moving too fast as if he'd spook a fox in Autumn. "Yes, it's customary to exchange gifts," Azriel said, pulling the blanket out of the hamper and rolling it out on the ground, he stilled. "Isn't it?" His hazel eyes snapped up to yours, shadows freezing under the curve of his wings.

You couldn't fight the smile, nodding down at him kneeling beside the hamper. He patted the space opposite him and that damned tether tugged you closer. "Yes Az, exchanging gifts are customary but I did not get my family any." You didn't see the point, there was no way you'd be able to step in Autumn without dire consequences.

"That's fine, I did." He shrugged, laying a pumpkin pie in front of you, steam curling off the brown pastry.

A tradition in your family to gift handmade presents to each other during the autumn equinox. Your mothers famous, pumpkin pie, honey tea and spiced apples.

"You got gifts for my family?" You asked, scooting closer to Azriel who didn't offer you a glance, his attention on the contents in the hamper. "What did you get my father?" You leant forwards dipping your head and tried catching his gaze. "My father hates you and you gave him gift?"

"I got him a hunting knife." He said it like it was the most logical thing, as if your father would not be thinking of gutting him with it. His shadows seemed to follow your line of thought, a dark wisp pushing you back to sit.

"Is that why you met with my mother instead?" You laughed, even though you wanted to cry at the thought of your mate stepping into autumn for a spec of your happiness and his own demise.

Azriel finally let his gaze fall on you, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. Always searching you before he decided what words to choose. "You're mother actually requested for me." His ears tinged a darker shade, hand scratching the back of his neck.

It was odd to think of your mother with him, you knew she'd be gentle and careful in her approach. Something you thought Azriel didn't receive much of in way of interaction. You also wondered what she thought of your mate, hoping she didn't worry and didn't judge alone from his stony features.

The grey cable knit sweater (the one you'd knit him last year) hugged his muscular arms, bicep flexing at his movement that you forget for a second what he said. A wave of your mother's scent hit you like a whip and brought you back.

"How the Gods does my mother manage to request your presence?"

"Well, she knows a lady in winter, that knows a lady in day and knows..." he trailed off the sentence, stumbling over his words trying to grasp the order of whatever your mother had told him. Trust your mother to use her network of gossips to send word to Velaris in order to find your mate.

"And how many ladies do you know?"

"Many," he smirked leaning in to you, "the only lady that matters is you though." His lips pressed against yours, warmth spreading through your chest as his hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer.

You smirked, storing away the memory so that you could show Feyre later and make your mate sweat about his duties to a high lady that didn't matter.

"Smooth, I bet my mother saw right through you." You said, tracing your swollen lips. You leant across Azriel's lap and plucked a ruby red apple from the hamper, teeth sinking into the shiny skin.

"Your mother probably thinks we're an equal match. How many guards did you court till you made it to me?" His lip twitched, fingers pinching your thigh for another swift attack. You swatted him way, squealing as his shadows skimmed the small slip of skin where your top had rode up over your hip.

It were true, you'd worked your way through nearly every division of the autumn army in the hopes of finding someone who wasn't just focused on following the high lords every word. What else were you supposed to do for five hundred years?

"I'd be quiet if I were you, recon I could get a rank higher than you back in autumn.” You swatted the curling wisps out of your face, sending them hissing back to their master.

"I doubt your mother would approve."

You didn’t argue with him on that, knowing that your mother was never fond of any suitor you’d brought home before.

“I take it these are from them?” You asked, lifting a small wooden box out of the hamper. A yellowing envelope stuck to the lid and sealed with red wax. You ripped the letter and scanned over your mother’s cursive writing.

The usual sentimental words she’d say to you around the table whilst you thanked the gods of harvest for giving you all good things and planting new seeds of regrowth and learning. At the very bottom below her signature however was a blurred splotchy mess, as if she’d written it last minute and folded the paper.

I hope this equinox brings you many blessings and offers you new fields to plant your own seeds. May you nurture the connection between you and your fated. My daughter you’ve been blessed, as have I now that I know you will be loved and safe.

Azriel peered over your shoulder, “I think she likes me,” he said, cutting a second piece of pumpkin pie and shoving it in his mouth.

“Just thank the stars you didn’t meet my father.” Now that you were banished from autumn, you doubted that you’d see him again. Too proud of his home to step out of tradition.

He hummed in agreement, pouring a cup of honey tea and setting it down in front of you. The view from the house of wind's balcony was your favourite, always bringing a smile to your face and reminding you that you could find beauty in any court. You did miss Autumn, but Velaris had grown on you, the constant stars blinking in the inky sky each night.

A small fire flickered in a homemade pit, copper bowl keeping it contained. Peeling the overlapping cloth, you traced the knitted mittens. Charcoal grey yarn that looked like liquid mercury woven together with softer orange, the two colours a symbol of your union with Azriel. Picking them up from the box, you slipped them into your pocket, freezing as something dropped out of one the mittens. A dark wisp dove out from its owner and caught the small object.

The shadows held it up and twisted it in front you, a fox figurine carved from wood and painted orange and beige. Tiny brushstrokes imitating fur, looking oddly like the fox you had as a child. A gift from your younger sister, you'd left your other figurines back in Autumn and hated yourself for it ever since. Least you had one now.

Azriel was silent as ever, watching you intently.

"My mother didn't give you anything? I mean I know I am gift enough Az," you said, laughing as he bumped his shoulder to yours.

His head dipped, Shadows concealing his face. "She did, wouldn't let me leave till I finished a pumpkin pie she made. Your sister made me a little fox of my own." Thats when you noticed the tiny wood carved fox pendent on a thin string around his neck, dark ink peeking out underneath it.

"Oh god's Az, don't let your enemies hear you say that. If that's all it takes." And by the looks of it, he'd enjoyed it so much, he was half way through the pumpkin pie from the hamper.

Cool metal met your fingertips as you lifted the cloth again, your reflection staring back at you in the silver blade. "I take it this gift is for both of us," you joked, Azriel picked it up and turned the hilt in his hand. A red stone embedded in the pommel, a scripture you couldn't quite make out on the hilt.

"Hunting knife, a few centuries old," he said glancing at your furrowed brows. "Look the hilts worn, the leather binding it, is coming away. Blade needs sharpening too, must have been in your family for a long time." He passed the knife back, blade pinched between his thumb and pointer finger.

You wrapped it back in the cloth, sandwiching it between the thick layers. "No idea why he'd give me that old thing," you mumbled, slamming the box shut. You were never one to use a knife, more inclined to using your magic and merging it with autumn's fighting techniques.

"No idea, just don't gut me with it in my sleep."

"Never," you gasped. "Just remember good behaviour or its a blunt blade my dear."

Since its nearly autumn equinox I wanted to do some prompts for it :) there's other characters to come - Yiiyii

[starboyshoyo]

Lip Gloss

Pairing: Vil x fem!reader

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 800

You run into Vil Schoenheit in the early morning, who decides that you need a bit of a makeover.

“Epel, you’d better have a good reason for waking me up at 5 am to bring you sweets,” you grumble into your phone speaker as you hurry along the halls of Pomefiore dorm. “I swore off visiting this cursed place a week ago, remember?” 

“Still not sure why you did that,” your best friend’s groggy voice came from the other side of the call. He sounded as if he had just woken up. “It’s not as if the dorm is haunted or somethin’. Ramshackle is worse when it comes to that stuff, y’know.” He pauses, and you hear a loud yawn in the background. “Just get here soon, ‘kay? I’ll let you in my room.” 

The line went dead before you could protest. Shoving the device in your pocket, you speed up, trying not to track mud onto the grand carpets as you go. But just as you round the corner to the first-year wing of the dorm, you run right into a firm- and familiar- chest. 

“Come here, potato. What is the issue with you today? Your uniform is a mess.”

Oh, no. As luck would have it, you’d bumped into Vil Schoenheit- the one person that you didn’t want to see today. In fact, he was the whole reason you were avoiding coming to Pomefiore in the first place. 

It’s not that you disliked Vil. In fact, you admired him quite a lot. But as of late, the sight of the handsome housewarden was making your heart do flips in your chest. Quelling the feeling took more of your emotional energy than you were willing to give up. So, your solution? Avoid him at all costs until you figured out a way to squash these growing feelings. 

“H-hi, Vil,” you sputter as he pulls you towards him, tugging on the collar of your shirt and aligning it better with your frame. “Um. There’s nothing wrong with me today. I just got out of bed, so I’m a little disheveled.” 

Vil clicks his tongue “One must be aware of how they look to others at all times,” he reprimands, but it’s clear that he’s not mad at you. His voice is gentle compared to the way he speaks to the others in his dorm. “Hmm… your hair is getting a little on the thin side. You should come by my dorm room later today- I have a shampoo that’ll fix it up right away.” 

You’re fidgeting under his touch as he fusses over you. Your face is heating up more by the minute, and you’re thankful that his attention is trained elsewhere, lest he notice your flustered expression. “I appreciate the help, but I really have to go see my friend now,” you hedge, trying to inch away from him.

“Not so fast.” Vil reaches his arm out, placing it on the wall beside you to keep you from escaping. “You don’t have any makeup on, potato. Do you expect me to just let you go, bare-faced?”

He guides you towards one of the benches in the hallway nearby and all but forces you to sit, before settling down beside you. Out of nowhere, he pulls out a makeup bag, emblazoned with his name. Vil opens a small compact mirror and reapplies his lip gloss, then turns to you again. “Close your eyes. I have some foundation and eyeshadow here that’ll fit your complexion perfectly.”

It’s oddly peaceful, letting your eyelids flutter shut gently while the soft bristles of a makeup brush dance over them. For a moment, you can forget just how close Vil’s face is to yours; how his hands brush over the apple of your cheeks while he applies blush and contour. Your phone is ringing in your pocket- Epel must be getting impatient. But you can’t bring yourself to pick it up. 

Soon enough, Vil taps your cheek gently, prompting you to open your eyes once again- just in time to see Vil swipe a tube of lip gloss over your lips- the same one that he had used on his own just minutes ago. 

You all but squeak when he’s done, nearly ruining his hard work when you try to bury your face in your hands. Fortunately, Vil catches them just in time, shaking his head. 

“Ah-ah, you know better than to touch. What’s gotten you so worked up today?” Vil releases one of your hands to cup under your chin, coaxing you to look him in the eyes. You’re vaguely aware of yourself as you mutter something about an indirect kiss, dying inside as you realize that he heard you. But to your surprise, Vil just laughs- and presses his lips to yours in a gentle peck. “Potato, if you wanted a real kiss, all you had to do was ask.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[artechoceneexplorer]

Herbs and Spices of Teyvat: A glimpse of the edible flora of the Continent

Teyvat is home to an incredible diversity of flora, given the variety of climates that can be found across it, and a significant portion of them have been used by the people of each region to build their cultures, through the unique flavours they give to their local cuisine.

Here's the plants that haven't had close-ups yet, the Small Lamp Grass, the Snapdragon, the Marcotte and the Sweet Flower:

The Small Lamp Grass (Lucetta luminatus) is a hedge native to the forests of Mondstadt, growing in the underbrush, away from clearings. Its most unique characteristics are its bioluminescent flowers, composed of a mostly closed, translucent calyx from which the blue light emitted from the bioluminescent bacteria inside the styles of the flowers passes through, attracting many insects towards it. To deter predators, it produces in its leaves allicin-like compounds, which are used to enhance flavors in local cuisine.

The Giant Palustrine Snapdragon (Megaanthirrhinum palustris) or just "Snapdragon" as called by the locals, is a giant riparian plant that can be found around the rivers and estuaries of Liyue and Mondstadt . Its giant flowers, the size of a grown man's head, combined with its large stature, makes this plant visible from hundreds of meters away. These flowers' sizes can be explained by their unusual pollinators, which are not insects, but much larger birds like finches and pigeons, who are strong enough to open the hinge of the flowers and access the pooled nectar inside, while being covered in pollen to pollinate the next flowers. Fishermen often use these flowers as an on the go snack, but their flowers, usually not whole, are used as garnish in many local dishes, despite being slightly bitter.

The Marcotte (Crassulojasminoides oloratus) is one of the most common plants of Fontaine, especially in the salty calcareous soils of the lowlands. Because of the salty conditions of the soil, this plant has adapted by storing it inside of its non reproductive tissues, mainly its leaves. Because of this, its leaves are used as dressing in plenty of dishes, alongside its flowers, which are used more for their scent, not only in cuisine, but in many other disciplines too.

The Sweet Flower (Glycophytum pervagatus) is one of if not the most ubiquitous herbaceous plant across the continent, being able to grow from the icy tundra of Snezhnaya, to the hot deserts of Sumeru, and even the isolated lands of Inazuma. This spurge has spread across the world, both because of its incredible physiological adaptations, their varied pollinator species, and most importantly, their relationship with man. Humans have cultivated this plant for centuries for its extremely sweet fruit, and its honey-like nectar that it secretes from its enlarged, petaliform nectarines, all of which can be turned into sugar. Because of extensive agriculture of this species, it is unknown the place of origin of it, but it is thought to be native to the seasonal plains of natlan, in which they had to adapt to harsh and fast changes in environmental conditions.

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard- Chapter 4: Enough

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

CW: dark themes - no graphic depictions* but non-con, sa, domestic violence, suicidal ideations *read at your own discretion*

word count: 3.5k

[<<< chapter 3]

“Hen..” Johnny turns to walk backwards, looking at you with a lopsided smile before you see his eyes cast up and to the right- lids narrowing for a split second, but the expression passes as he continues, “It’s swelterin’ out today, what’s with the fashion choice, eh?”

It had been a terribly, unseasonably, hot day- the sun was bright and oppressive as you walked through the hedges. You can feel the individual pearls of sweat beading off your skin under the high collar, your teeth clenching at the way they trickled down between your shoulder blades and collected in your cleavage-

And may all the gods damn this forsaken corset..

You don’t say that, though you sorely wish you could. No, instead, you fan yourself; fighting vainly to keep your breaths measured and at a normal pace.

But that’s incredibly hard to do when your lungs can only expand as far as the rigid boning that lines your torso would allow.

Your handmaid, Elia, had fallen ill late last night, and her temporary replacement seems to have a grudge against breathing, apparently..

“It is supposed to be autumn-”, you mutter back, gratefully taking his arm when he returns to your side, “not bloody summer.”

“My, my.. Do they teach ya how to speak like that at Queen school, Your Grace?”

He belts out that wonderful, smooth laugh at his own awful joke- nudging into you when you give more of a strained huff than the actual chuckle you’d been going for.

This would be his last day here. The week had gone by so quick, far too quick; the days had felt like the usual whirlwind and calamity that is your life, though you admit that as soon as the King left the castle walls, you were quick to reschedule nearly every event that you could manage. Not wanting to miss any more time with Johnny than you absolutely had to-

Then there’s Simon.. Wasn’t it also a week ago since the night in the hedges? Oh- right here, actually! How painfully convenient-

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the thought, recognizing the specific spot you had been with him- fight the urge to wonder desperately if he feels the same turmoil over what occurred.

Nothing had changed between you, well, nothing outwardly, anyway. Internally? You were confused, and ashamed, so fearful, and yet, every time you let your mind recount how sinfully good it felt- to have him so close, to have his lips caress your skin, and that deep, brassy voice reverberate through your ears- you feel that awful, terrible ache for him grow even more.

“Earth to Sunny…”

You look up too fast, or maybe it wasn’t even that fast; but the moment your head tilts toward his voice, and the sun bears down on your face, you see a flurry of black stars dance across your vision, thickening until there’s nothing at all. No more light, no heat, no heaviness, no restriction around your lungs- just pure, blissful nothing.

”Mm.. My Queen..”

Warm lips press a long kiss behind your ear, his voice silky and muffled as he speaks- calloused hands roam your body, they leave the most delectable chills in their wake. Your skin impossibly hot and cold at the same time-

“I’m not your queen anymore, Simon. Remember?”

He moves to hover over you, his mouth never leaving your skin as it traces every curve, and slope, and freckle with the softest kisses you’re sure you’ve ever felt. The sensation of them is more like a feather being dragged over your flesh, slow, every delightful stroke made with purpose, intention.

And when he chuckles, you can't help but to suck in a sharp gasp at how his breath tickles the skin of your tummy, how it seems to fan out, warming something much, much deeper inside you-

“Love.. You’ll always be my queen. Or, do you not remember the first time I kneeled before you? The oath I took- my fealty sworn to you, and you alone, for as long as I live.”

The image of Simon kneeling at your feet makes you squirm under him; recalling vividly how large and menacing he was even in such a vulnerable position, how he had looked up at you under his brow- molten amber irises practically dancing in the light, so full of guile and adoration, even then.

A shrill noise parts your lips when he hoists your thighs over his shoulders, your heart racing, blood rushing to your cheeks and neck as you dare to look down at him-

And you know the minute you meet his eyes, see the intensity behind them, even with the rest of his face obscured as he nuzzles further against your cunt, that it would be your undoing.

How would anyone, or anything, ever compare?

Certainly not your King- no, not yours anymore. Wait.. is that right?

The thought disappears just as quickly as it had come, the pain of it replaced by the reverent worship of Simon’s tongue-

You’re slammed back into reality by a rush of cool water streaming over your face- it feels heavenly, since you now also feel that ungodly heat wrapping around you again, your senses slowly coming back into focus-

The earthy, sweet smell of the garden filling your nose, the feel of the water evaporating from your skin, the dry taste that coats your tongue, and urgent voices resounding in your ear.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus..”

“My Queen?”

You’re gently shaken, large hands holding your face- but it’s your name spoken in that voice you’ve dreamed about, so deep and laced with concern, with worry, that settles heavily in your heart, bringing you even further into the moment. And you so badly want to reach for it, for him-

But when you try to raise your hand, it feels like lifting iron chains, your energy thoroughly depleted; you move to sit up anyway, needing to fix this- whatever this was.

“W-what.. What is it?”

Gods, it even feels impossible to speak- but, finally, it seems your eyes have decided to work again, even if the view before you is blurred and hazy at first. You blink away the remaining starbursts, seeing two imposing silhouettes perched over you-

“Grianach..”

It’s when your gaze meets Johnny’s, your brain able to register the horror, the anguish- that you scramble to clutch at your throat.

Oh no.. no, no, no-

In their efforts to relieve you of your many insulating layers, it seems they cut the laces of your corset, and ripped the collar of your gown apart at the seams-

The high collar that you insisted on to cover the angry purplish bruises that currently wrap around your neck, the outline of a hand turning green and yellow with age. There were other bruises in much the same state on your arm and your thigh, and you thank the gods that those could not be so easily seen- because the murderous gleam in Simon and Johnny’s eyes is scary enough.

What would they do if they saw the rest…

You order them to help you up, dismissing their reservations as you simultaneously plead for them to call no one else-

“This is.. embarrassing enough. I do not wish for anyone else to see me, there are too many rumors and baseless speculation as it is-”

Simon is close again, right there supporting your weight, his body tense and ready for anything- but his eyes..

A shiver wracks through you as the image of those same eyes settling between your thighs flits through your mind; a motion they both mistake for the start of another fainting spell, judging by the way they grip you a little tighter- Johnny’s hand at your waist in an instant,

“Let me fetch the physician-”

“No.”

“Sunny..”

Looking between them, between cobalt blue and rich copper, between the man you’ve known your entire life, and the one that has somehow upended everything you thought you knew, your knees feel weak again.

“Please- Just.. Take me to my chambers.”

Simon moves immediately, leaving Johnny no choice but to follow as the towering man leads you through the hedge- but he doesn’t go towards the usual entrance you should be taking. You follow his long strides to a shadowed alcove, one you never would look twice at; but, to your surprise, when he pushes against an odd section of wall, it opens.

Johnny casts you a sidelong glance, and you wish you had an answer for him- hells, you wish you had an answer at all. It shouldn’t be surprising there are secret and hidden passageways within the castle, you suppose you’re just surprised you were never made aware of them. Especially since the corridor he chooses takes you directly to your rooms-

Your mouth opens the moment he closes the three of you in, a demand already on your tongue to know exactly how Simon knew about this, but all coherent thought turns to mush when he turns on you, pulling the black glove from his hand,

“Did he do this to you?”

The feel of his bare fingers on your skin sends your entire body reeling, unable, or maybe just unwilling, to pull away from his touch, even when you see Johnny’s eyebrows furrow in equal parts confusion and anger.

“Yes.”

“The King?” Johnny nearly choke on his own words, running a hand through his mess of hair as he watches Simon back away.

“It’s not-” You start, but you don’t have a justification, or an excuse, just the horrific memory of how angry your King had been, how he stormed into your room after the feast- his breath so laden with the smell of wine that it made your stomach queasy.

He took you that night before he left, by force. Pinned you down, and hissed the most obscene and vile things in your ear, his hands marking you for everyone to see; but you think it was mostly for his own depraved pleasure-

”Tell me about this Lord of yours- hm?” “Dancing with him like some common whore- you’re a fucking embarrassment to my crown-” “Well, since you want to act like one, I’ll show you exactly how I treat my harlots.”

As much as you tried to reassure him, he wouldn’t listen, didn’t want to hear what you had to say; and it was too easy for him to silence you with a strong grip around your neck-

You feel the hot tears threaten to spill at the memory, but you won’t, you refuse to let them fall- you refuse to shed one more single fucking tear for that monster, and certainly not right now.

So, you swallow the agonizing lump in your throat, pinning the men in front of you with a determined glare, “This shall not leave this room, am I clear?”

Johnny steps forward, “What?”

You raise your hand to stop him, holding your ground, “It isn’t a suggestion. It is a command-”, your feet move on autopilot, crossing the distance to the spacious washroom.

“But, Sunny.. You can’t let him get away with this! What else is there, huh? How else has he hurt-” Simon moves to cut him off, a strong arm reaching out to hold the Scot back, “Get your hands off me.”

They stand toe to toe, Simon’s eyes practically burning a hole through Johnny, the shorter man giving it back just as severely,

“Enough..” You sigh, moving quickly to push yourself between them, an open palm placed over their chests- Johnny’s, solid and warm, the muscle underneath heaving with every breath, and Simons.. The obsidian steel, cold and unforgiving, but it’s impossible to miss how his breathing is just as labored.

He’s just as livid-

“Please..”

At the same time, they relax under your touch, the sound of your plea softening both of their hearts for a moment- long enough to hear out, at least.

“Come back with me.” Johnny says, his voice so strong and steady that you swear you could feel the conviction behind the simple statement-

You shake your head, stepping from between them, “You know I can’t. That’s my home, our home, which you stand to inherit. The King would-“

Yes.. What would the great and benevolent ruler do? Would he make up a reason to attack your beloved homeland, to round up your family and have them executed? Would he make you watch Johnny’s head roll before casting your own off with it? He had already shown you a taste of how far his jealousy could go, how truly malicious and cruel he was willing to be when you angered him- and that only seemed to be happening more as of late.

“I will not go. I will not endanger your-” He tries to speak again, and you can see the flush of anger color his cheeks, his bright eyes so dark now, so full of turmoil, rage, “I WILL NOT.. endanger your life, or the lives of any of my people, Johnny..”

“Then I’ll take ya somehwere they won’t find us! Somewhere, where we’re nobodies, not a lord, or a queen- somewhere our names won’t matter. We’ll pick new ones, and it’ll be just us, just like it used to be, Grianach-”

A series of knocks at the doors throws the room into an eerie silence, agitation still hanging thick and heavy in the air around you as you look to Simon with a small nod; watching him cross the space and walk out of sight; your ears straining to hear who has come to seek you out, eyes staying glued to the wall, waiting to see him round it once again-

Johnny’s voice is sudden and low in your ear, so close it almost startles you as he speaks in your native tongue, or well, the bastardized slang you had always spoken to each other as children, ”Do you trust him?”

You turn to look up at him, eyebrows furrowed and your tone just as low, ”Yes, I do.”

There’s a moment when he seems to question your answer, question how little hesitation there was behind it- his eyes dancing over your face before darting up and back down to you just as quick,

”Bring him, then. Would that make you say ‘yes’?”

A familiar sequence of taps causes you to look back towards the entryway, where Simon stands as casual as ever, hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he looks between you and Johnny,

“Lord MacTavish’s horse has been prepared, along with his things, as previously requested-”

“Well, tell ‘em to take him back to stable, ‘m not leavin’.” Johnny spits back with a venom you’re not you’ve ever heard from the man.

But Simon, characteristically, is entirely unfazed by the outlash, looking back through his helmet, his expression almost comically bored.

“I answer to the Queen.” He hums out, eyes now on you in a way that feels far too personal, too intimate, as he moves forward with slow steps, “Not you.”

No.. No. I can’t do this- not here, not again. I don’t even know what this is, but it’s too much.

“All right, both of you- out.” You seethe, your hands clenching and unclenching as you all but shove Johnny back to the secret entrance- because the last thing you needed was for one the King’s many eyes in the castle to see him departing from your chambers.

He doesn’t try to stop you, but he does beg once again, softly, quietly- a plea for which you don’t have an answer to, not right now anyway. What he wants is impossible and improbable, it would never work. Right? Right.

There is no way out of this for you- there never really was.

“Later, Johnny. When we’ve calmed down and had time to think. I need to dress, now, go. I swear, I will find you.”

You watch him go, watch him spare one last glance before disappearing into the damp shadows of the tunnel, leaving you alone yet again with your Ghost. And that same, awful ache that never seems to leave you, makes itself apparent at the thought- your reeling mind certainly not helping to quell it by any means.

“You, too.” You say, squaring your shoulders and steeling yourself to face him, “I just need-”

When you do finally look up, your stride falters- seeing him already looking at you, his hand reaching for yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do- but, at the last second, he stops himself. His long fingers curling into a fist as they fall back in place at his side, and you don’t know why his restraint only serves to enthrall you more.

“I understand, My Queen..”

You want to scream and cry as you watch him slip his glove back on, covering the pale, scarred skin again-

“Si- Ser.. I’m sorry-”

“No.” He cuts you off gently, his voice warm and kind as he turns into you fully, “You have nothin’ to apologize for.. Not a single thing.”

Gods, why does he have to make it so difficult to be in his presence? Just standing here with him, his frame dwarfing your own, tall and broad, so immovable, so powerful; and yet, he somehow manages to make you feel like you’re the one looking down at him, like a deity gazing down on their devout disciple; like just allowing him the grace of your time and attention is what he lives for-

That is absurd.. And blasphemous. What is wrong with me.. It’s just a silly infatuation that I’ve aggrandized, that I’ve made more important than it is, obviously. I don’t know any better, anyway. This could be a ruse, and I wouldn’t know it, only ever having been with one boorish man; they could all be like that, Simon included-

“I’ll be at my post, Your Grace.” His voice is closer to normal now, not low and rich, spoken like it’s only meant for your ears-

All you can manage is a lame nod, turning away as he leaves because you know you couldn’t bear to see him go. Instead, you busy yourself finding another dress to cover your neck before calling in the handmaids for help.

Yes, busy, that usually tends to ward off the wayward and errant musings, the fantasies of what can never be- you’ll hone your focus on the mundane, on the way this new dress is softer than the last, the dark green velvet hugging you tenderly. Focus on the pinch of the corset, your eyes glancing at the wardrobe where you know the mutilated one now resides.

You simply won’t think about him. Or Johnny, and his preposterous proposal-

Oh, your sweet Johnny.. still ever the bleeding heart he is. You’ll send him back home with grand gifts, and hope he finds the letter you wrote for his eyes only, hope he can move on, and forget what he regrettably had to witness.

It will be ok. You’ll make sure he’s taken care of, that he won’t be cast into an unsavory light, or blamed.

Not when you’re so painfully aware that he’s the only wonderfully bright light you had been blessed with in so long, and gods forbid it’s your fault that his light is snuffed out-

The mirror catches your eye, reflecting someone so different back to you now. Different from a few short months ago, different from just a week ago, an hour ago, even. And while you don’t know if you particularly care for the woman you see, you know she is necessary for what’s to come.

It will be ok.

Simon stands guard at her door, unwavering and vigilant- but his mind races.

How could this have happened to his Queen, on his watch no less, how could he have allowed that monster to enter her chambers?

To hurt her.. defile her- his Queen. He swore his life to protect her, but he never imagined the one she needed saving from would be his own sovereign.

No matter. Because at the end of the day, the King is just a man; mortal, made of flesh and blood, a beating heart that can so easily be pierced by a sharp blade. A soft, squishy neck just made for cleaving-

And he doesn’t know this cousin of hers, doesn’t know what kind of lord he is, but she seems to trust him implicitly- they seem close in ways he can quite grasp. But, perhaps he’s on to something, Simon could get her away from here, away from this hellish place that drains her more and more, every waking moment.

He would take care of her, it would be so easy to make them both disappear.. they already called him ‘Ghost’, why not live up to the idea the mindless drones of court already have of him?

Hm.. Ghost-

The name rolls around on his tongue, Simon Riley has been called many things in his life, but none of them ever sounded so fitting.

[chapter 5>>>]

[vivantesopvles]

They meet again between life and death, in a place called the Limbo. 

This time, Harry does not wake up in the pure-white King’s Cross he so often revisits in his memory. He’s back at the Dursleys’, locked inside his cupboard again. And someone’s banging hard on the door.

No, he thinks in despair. Not Uncle Vernon. 

‘Open up!’ But the voice is too high to be his uncle’s, Harry dimly notes; and the accent way too rough to be Dudley’s either. ‘We’re running out of time!’

‘Door’s locked from the outside,’ Harry says wearily. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Use your magic, you daft mug. And it’s Riddle you’re speaking to.’

The lever is met with resistance when Harry turns the handle. But Riddle’s right. Harry pushes his magic through the keyhole – Alohomora – and the lock clicks open.

Riddle is eleven, and so is Harry now, it seems. He takes a look at Harry – a dead spider caught on his shoulder, his too-large t-shirt full of holes – and curls his lips with derision.

‘So that’s how you’ve been using your magic?’ 

Harry ignores him. He leads the way out onto the empty street. As they walk past the trimmed hedges and boring gardens, Riddle tries to get him to talk again. ‘A wizard called Dumbledore says I should find you, says you know the way,’ he prompts. 

‘Did he?’ Harry is briefly taken aback. ‘Where to?’

‘To the new place, of course.’ Riddle shoots him a dubious glance. ‘You’d better not be giving me the runaround.’

‘I’m not,’ Harry says, wondering why Dumbledore still enjoys complicating matters this much, even in death. ‘In any case if we’re going anywhere, I think we ought to head over to King’s Cross Station first …’

‘King’s Cross? That’s in London, that’s where I come from,’ Riddle exclaims. 

As if fuelled by the information, he grabs Harry by the wrist and begins to sprint down the street; all the while, he talks and talks.

‘… and I grew up in Whitechapel. Wool’s Orphanage, if you must know. A soft touch like you wouldn’t have lasted a day there, Harry.’ 

Harry shakes his head, exasperated. It has just occurred to him that they needn’t run at all. It’s the Limbo; they could probably teleport themselves wherever they liked. But they’re going so fast now it’s all Harry can focus his mind on: the speed, the wind in his hair and Riddle, his small, cold hand holding Harry’s. 

It’s almost like flying. Harry can feel himself becoming lighter with each step forward, with each memory left behind. He forgets his own death – the second one … then the first – he forgets the horrors of the war and the people he lost.  

Around them, the tidy suburban streets of Surrey blur, blend, into the cobblestoned confusion that is the East End, which Riddle navigates with the elegance of an alley cat.

‘We’re almost there,’ he says, before immediately launching into another one of his dark anecdotes about the exorcist whom he’d named his archnemesis since he was six. 

Harry’s usually put off by gobby people, but somehow Riddle is growing on him. Maybe it's because Riddle's actually quite hilarious. Maybe it’s because of his endless energy; how vital and unapologetic he still is after being told that there’s something wrong with him his whole life. 

‘I’d like to come here again sometime,’ Harry says as they outrun the old warehouses and backstreets; the red brick lanes and ivy-clad walls. ‘With you. On the other side.’

At that Riddle’s face breaks into a wide smile, a genuine one. ‘On the other side,’ he agrees, a wicked glint in his eyes. ‘Why not? I’ll show you around.’

Later, at the white platform where a train stands waiting for them, Harry finds a one-way ticket in his front pocket. On it says: 01 - SEP - 1938.

21052024 | @microficmay | life & death

[nagisasstuff]

idk what this is so go ahead and take it

Sonic didn’t know if this was an obsession or if he still couldn’t get over the past.

He didn’t even know why he felt this way, or how he did. Usually, whenever he was at his lowest point the hedgehog would shake it off. Ignore it, because he was the hero of Mobius — he had no time to act so self-pitying. 

He was saving the world for chaos sake! He shouldn’t feel that way when it was such an honour to be a mobian that everyone depends on.

A mobian that everyone depends on too much.

So why, why did he hate it? Why did it always feel so overbearing.. so overwhelming. 

The pressure of others piling up in a messy, unorganised, folder and forcefully placed onto his hands.

The weight on his shoulders felt heavier than usual; a truly exhausting thing.

He never asked for this. 

He never wanted this. 

As far as the azure hedgehog could remember, whenever he played saviour attempting to make everyone proud and acknowledge his heroic acts, all the responsibility was suddenly thrusted into him without warning. 

Just because he could ruin some robots beyond repair. 

Ever since he showed off his abnormal speed, everyone relied on him to save their village. To give them the freedom they deserved.

They were asking too much from a little kid.

For Gaia sakes. The unique hog was wasting too much time wondering on how he got here and his current predicament, he needs to help out on the action being committed right in front of him. 

He needed to beat some ro-butts.

A blocky-robotic head stained with oil at the side of its base rolled over to the tip of his shoe, before being brutally crushed. 

Vibrant long red quills entered his peripheral vision, violet eyes glared at him with the intensity of a thousand-burning suns.

“Sonic. We can’t deal with your daydreams or whatever's going on that hedge of yours, but chip-chop look at the clock. As you can see here, we are currently in the middle of a BATTLE! You better catch up or I might as well take whatever spot you’ve been bragging about for so long, some hero you are.”

Knuckles scoffed, annoyance visible in his tone.

Sonic ignored the way his ears slightly drooped, his tail folding downwards. He ignored the way his gloved-fingers trembled and his smile slightly faltering. 

Just what was wrong with him today? He won’t let this get to his head; he's just being a big baby, over-sensitive of a simple insult.

“Still aiming for that top spot? Thought we got over that competitiveness, or maybe you're just jealous I always come out first?” He jabbed, a confident smirk etched across the hedgehog’s face whilst raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t be so sure of yourself!”

Tails watched all of this bickering from afar as his other friends who surrounded the area near him continued bashing an army of robots, ignoring the scene that unfolded right in front of them. 

For these group of mobians, arguments such as this one (mainly initiated by Sonic) were the norm. However, the observant, kid-genius, fox knew something was off about his older brother. 

He noticed how in the most random periods of the day, his fast companion would be unusually quiet and would stare at nothingness. His usual teasing and snarky comments were now seldom and rare to find. 

How the blue hedgehog would slowly appear less often in the day, only appearing when the clock strikes midnight. 

Tails was aware of the almost unnoticeable growing eyebags right beneath his eyelids. The quiet snoring as if he wasn’t asleep at all, (and maybe he was) the sloppy attacks and sluggish movement. That wasn’t even the worst part! 

Nowadays, he acted so.. distant.

He saw everything, up until the very last detail. 

Tails really, really, wanted to confront his brother about this behaviour, but he would wait. Wait until the latter was comfortable enough to talk about this with him. 

He was patient, so he would wait. 

Tails just hoped he’d be quick about it this time though.

—————

Sonic’s internal crisis drowned out the sound of robotic limbs clanging together and bolts being forcefully ripped out. 

Why he was still pondering at this matter? He didn’t know. He was tired, he wanted to rest. Let him rest. LET HIM RES-

An ebony hedgehog flew towards him leaving trails of dust where he once stood. 

“What's up with you Faker? You’re not as unbearable as usual.” the hedgehog quirked a brow.

“It’s nothing Shads,” the other pushed away the topic as he brushed his messy quills. “-anyway where the heck did Egghead go?”

“Escaped, as always. Maybe if you were paying more attention we would’ve captured him to prevent any other dirty tricks and cheats he has hiding up his sleeve.” Shadow snarled at him. 

“Ignore him dear, but I'm afraid he does have a point. What is with you today? You’re not as lively as always.” Rouge flew over, resting a hand atop of one of Sonic’s shoulder blades, one brow quirked in suspicion.

“Hm, I am curious as to what is troubling you today.” 

Shadow added. An irritated tone displayed to hide his slight worry for the speedster, he had noticed the other’s mood slightly plummet from the jab he made earlier.

Sonic’s palms began to feel clammy under his gloves. 

“It’s nothing, chillax guys. We shouldn’t waste our time talking about this and instead focus on Eggbreath. Hello??” “If you aren’t gonna help me find him, then I might as well leave. Gotta dash!” The darker hedgehog and bat were both about to protest before being rudely interrupted, a blue streak flew past them. “That hedgehog..” Shadow growled.

“Lay off him for now Handsome, we’ll try to corner him later..”

Rouge had a bad feeling. That hedgehog may reveal something terribly shocking, something that’ll impact and change everyone's perspective of the blue hero.

 Something attention-catching, something that would turn all eyes on him.

Her inner bubble popped when she heard robotic thumping resembling footsteps behind her. She straightened up and swiftly whipped around before being tackled in a bear hug along with the hybrid.

“Hands off Omega!”

“THE BATTLE HAS ENDED. IT IS OUR CUE TO RETURN HOME AND REST FOR THE DAY. THERE IS NO USE DELAYING OUR BREAK BY IDLING HERE AND GOSSIPING AMONGST SELVES.”

“Pfft-” the female snorted.

“Shut it Rouge, we weren’t gossiping! Now let go!” Shadow attempted to escape the robot’s tight grip.

Omega activated his boosters, flying away before dawn could reach them. Distant yelling and laughing could be heard as they flew away out of earshot.

“..Well that was random.” A pink hedgehog muttered. Overhearing the trio’s conversation.

“Kinda out of character too..” A young fox replied, his twin-tails flapping around randomly.

“I’m leaving, I need to guard the Master Emerald.”

The duo stared at the fading figure of an echidna, before simultaneously turning their heads to face each other.

“Tails!” Amy called out.

“Should we check on Sonic later? I’m worried..” The pink hedgehog’s brows furrowed in confusion and frustration. Her tone curious with a strong desperate need to soothe her friends internal misery.

“They have a point, he has been acting a bit.. Off per say.” The fox muttered back.

“Maybe we should give him some time, I’ll tell you if he ever acts weird Amy.”

They give each other one last nod of acknowledgement and head off their separate ways, one slightly limping with exhaustion due to the battle that occurred minutes ago.

[willtheweaver]

A writer’s guide to forests: woodlands made by man

Forests are for the most part, the realm of nature. But what about those with a less than natural origin? Here are some woodlands that are shaped artificially.

Parks and gardens- Trees look nice, there’s no denying it. As long as there have been people who admire trees, there have been gardens and parks. Grassy meadows, neatly trimmed hedges and flower beds may get all the attention, but an accenting grove, or a rambling woodland always adds to the aesthetic. Wealthy aristocrats would import trees from far away places, while more modest landowners and public spaces grow native species. Though the results do look quite natural, they are nonetheless human creations.

Orchard- Fruit and nut bearing trees have always been favored as a reliable source of food. And so people since nearly the beginning of agriculture have been planting orchards to provide for them. Trees are planted in rows, evenly spaced apart for the ease of harvesting. Smaller orchards, those catering to families who pick their own fruit, and those that grow fairly delicate fruits still do the harvesting by hand, while many more rely on machines to do the heavy lifting.

Tree farm/ plantation- Many trees types cultivated are deciduous species, but there are some instances when conifers are preferred. Being relatively fast growing, and usually possessing a single, straight trunk, they are the ideal tree type for use as lumber and paper products. Of course, one cannot forget the need every November and December for Christmas trees.

Palm plantation- The tropics are ideal for growing oil palms. Thousands of acres are devoted to the tree, as so much of our food and other products these days relies on palm oil. This is not a good thing as the demand means that vast areas of rainforest have had to be cleared. In Indonesia, the problem is particularly evident, as the growth of palm plantations is one of the main factors behind the decline of orangutan numbers.

Coconut grove- Almost anywhere you go in the tropics will have coconut palms. Buoyant, the nut floats easily on the currents, and where it is too isolated for a coconut to reach naturally (such as Hawaii), people have brought it with them. As well as the coconuts, the palms themsevles are also used; palm fronds can be used for roofing, and the fibers are used in weaving.

Bonsai forest- The art of growing miniature trees has been practiced for centuries. Some trees are collected in the wild, harsh natural conditions causing the trees to grow slowly and stay small, but many more are shaped over many years. While many bonsai are grown singularly, groves and forests are also popular choices. These can be either monospecific, or mixed, and can be part of a larger landscape creation that includes rocks, water, and figures.

There are plenty of examples of forest areas that are man-made. Don’t feel like you have to confine your story to a natural woodland. Use what you find around you to inspire the setting and drive your characters and the plot. What happens on the earth can easily be applied to science fiction or fantasy. Put your own spin on it (maybe your characters are small and live in a bonsai forest…of course they could also be normal sized people who happen to be in a giant sized bonsai planting).

Edit: As pointed out in the comments/reblogs, I seemed to have forgotten woodlots, so I am going to include those.

Woodlot- Common areas open to members of the community include a mixture of open pastureland and forested areas. People would have their flocks and herds forage here in spring and summer, whilst they managed and harvested the trees. Trees in woodlots would not be felled, instead the branches would be cut back and allowed to regrow. The resulting growth produces straight branches that are used in constructing walls, fences, as well as firewood and charcoal. (Communal pastures and woodlots are not really thought of these days, as many areas were lost over the years due to industrialization, urbanization, and the enclosure of land by the aristocracy)

[mollymagician]

Helllooo so, reading certain fun posts over at @gabessquishytum ‘s place got me thinking of one of my fave movies and like—

Dream spent years trapped by social expectations in an unhappy and unwanted marraige with Alex Burgess, ignored and withdrawn into his own little world. He has his greenhouse and his bizarre prize-winning hybrid roses, his unpublished forever-not-quite-finished manuscripts, and that’s enough, he thinks.

Until Alex kicks the proverbial bucket and Dream learns that the Burgess family fortune has been so badly mismanaged, he’s inherited nothing from his late husband but a drafty old mansion sitting on a pile of debt.

The creditors are closing in and Dream…hates the house. He always hated it. But dammit, spite is a hell of a drug. He hates his family as much as he ever hated Alex and Fawney Rig, and he refuses to be kicked out of his own home. He needs a source of income, asap.

Luckily his gardener Matthew has pot plants growing in the hedges and more optimism than sense. Win win!

Pretty soon there’s A Lot More than prizewinning roses growing in Dream’s greenhouse. A lot more. Dream must have some sort of eldrich gardening powers, because this stuff is insanely potent and is also growing out of control. They need to find some way to unload this crop, and fast. Dream needs money. The authorities are getting suspicious. Matthew doesn’t want to go to prison. The whole town knows. So off they head towards the big city to try to find a buyer.

And find a buyer they do!

Hob Gadling isn’t…exactly a crime lord. He’d never describe himself that way. He’s just a creatively savvy businessman. And he’s never been more entertained by ANYONE more than he is by this gorgeous and charmingly awkward lunatic who’s somehow wandered into his little seedy underworld with a gardener and the weirdest story that he’s ever heard. He’s head over heels, instantly. And he’s determined to keep Dream out of trouble, if not just because Dream’s wildly delicious, than at least because Hob firmly believes that no one should go to jail for objectively funny crimes.

…I’m just trying to decide who it is in this version of the story that ends up on the floor, stoned out of their mind, eating cereal out of the box and wearing googly-eye glasses. Please watch this movie, for that scene ALONE.

…The gardener in the film’s actually named Matthew and I tend to envision my Sandman-verse human!Matthew based on the Matthew from this flick. Though Grace’s gardener!Matthew was actually Scottish. (The trying-pot-for-the-first-time scene works just as well with Dream looking at Matthew, blurting out “…you’re American!” and then laughing like a lunatic.)

…After the Whole Incident At The End That No One In Town Can Remember, Dream and Hob rename Fawney Rig to Fiddler’s Green, Dream publishes his novels, and of course they rebuild the greenhouse. Bigger this time. And everyone lives happily ever after.

[yufloria]

Old Roots Pt.1

TASKFORCE141 x Fem!Reader

Summary: Los vaqueros and you were childhood friends and they left without a trace before you entered adulthood.

Sorry if this took a while, testing weeks are a bitch and almost considered dropping and scraping the idea on multiple occasions :/  

Also: I tried adding more story/ background and working on my descriptions and details skills!!! Tell me if this is better and feedback is greatly appreciated &lt;3 

Word count:6.4k!!! (Get comfy :3)

TW: Blood, gore, violence, CoD type of violence, injured reader

WARNING!!!!! IT MAYBE GRAPHIC TO SOME OF THE READERS

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“Alejandro bajate de allí” you told Alejandro as he was playing on top of a stone hedge. “¡Por favor Ale!” screamed a very panicked Rodolfo while clutching to your arm tightly. “No worries I got this! I just need a little more!” He shouted back. This all happened after pointed out how delicious the red apples look hanging from tree. Alejandro being Alejandro and knowing how much you love red apples he is currently trying to reach from on top of the wall. But the problem was that all 3 of you were (at the time) really short. So, in the mind of a kid, he did the best thing he could ever think of which consisted of jumping off and hopefully getting the juicy treat for you. Growing up with him you knew what he was going to do with just a glint of his eyes. “Alejandro, no lo hagas, for everything I could ever ask of you please don’t do it.”  Without a warning he just jumped off and landed on top of Rudy that you didn’t know when he moved but he tried to catch him. Both landed on their back on the rough patchy spot, the only spot without lush grass for some type of cushioning. You ran to reach them as fast as your stubby legs could go. Once you reached them you heard small sniffles, as you got closer Alejandro rolled off Rudy, he first looked at his scratched knee then at you with tear filled eyes and let all the tears loose. You were quick to pull him into a hug as your head rested on Alejandro’s shoulder you saw how Rudy also looked like he was about to burst into tears you knew he was because he was very scared of something bigger that could have happened to Alejandro. You just hold out your arm as in to invite him into a hug he quickly obliged. The three of you enjoyed each other’s presence until it was broken when Alejandro started giggling. The hug disbanded away from Alejandro just for him to turn around with a bright smile and holding out 3 red apples on a branch. “Ay, Alejandro...” You sighed out. Ruffling his hair, you quickly gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, he immediately turned red and shoved the branch in your arm and turned away and pouted. After pulling Alejandro to his feet, you guided them to a river and told Alejandro to wash the knee as well as he could while you washed the apples up stream. Rudy started to wrap a piece of fabric around Alejandro’s knee while you sat a little more behind them. “Gracias Rodolfo,” you praise as you give him a kiss on the check as a thank you. He also turned red and pulled his shoulders up to try and cover his blush. You distributed the apples to them and started eating them while staring out to the bustling town below. “Oye, when you grow up what do you want to do?” You ask out loud. Both Alejandro and Rodolfo hummed and tilted their heads as in thought. Alejandro was the first one to quickly stand up and shout, “¡Parar los tipos malos! And kick them out from here and make them never come back.” “That means joining the military, Alejandro! With the problem of the cartel, they are probably going to kill us just for joining!” countered Rodolfo. “We have to fight back some way or another. ¡Por nuestra familia!” You courage him with a warm smile. “¡Tienes razon! Juntos paráremos a todos ellos!” he shouted with a sudden boost of courage. You smiled fondly at both of them as you ruffled their hair and thought ‘Yes, together we shall stop all of them’! 

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The strong relationship between all three of you were building throughout the years started crumbling the moment you started entering your adulthood. You no longer spent that much time together anymore because there was simply no time, your mom fell ill and has been bedridden ever since when you were a teenager, you took the part of taking care of her as your father went out most of the day and always came back after dark completely exhausted. It was a blessing and a curse that you were the only child, a blessing because your parents wouldn't use that much money on food and plain necessities but a curse because you always felt that you must help and work around the house for your parents and take all the load of work. As for Alejandro and Rodolfo? They left without a trace, one day you are catching up on your lives and finding a day where you can enjoy a day like the “good ‘ol times” and the next they were nowhere to be found, you asked around, but all the leads came into a dead end and soon you gave up on looking for them. It was harsh for you to adjust without them and the only thing you knew was they were probably dead but maybe they were alive! But if they were alive, why didn’t they tell you or a letter or the very least a goodbye. A few months passed and your mother unfortunately lost her fight against her illness. Her passing was harsh and taxing on both your father and you.  

On your father because he started picking up drinking again after he stopped in order to buy the few medications that your mother needed. But for you, after losing your friends that felt like almost younger brothers to you and now your mother. You felt like you had no one, especially now with an emotionally distant father. His drinking problem slowly started to get the best of him, and he started wasting so much that you could no longer help with your job. After he realized he didn’t have enough to continue feeding his addiction he started asking for loans from the cartel as he knew he had no way of paying them back. 

 He soon started to take his frustrations out on you which caused you to say out of the house most of the time, sometimes even sleeping in the old hideout all of you built away from the town to hide whenever the 3 of you would do mischief. It was a small house under a huge oak tree the leaves and branches hanging down low enough to hide the scraps and wood you collected to build and resemble a house. It was a paradise, at least when you were younger, it had a small play kitchen with a window that had curtains made if sewn together random fabrics that you found in the garbage. On the windowsill there was a small tin can that you always replace each day when you were play pretend that you had a bakery or sometimes a restaurant, that supposedly that Alejandro and Rodolfo were going to help you build so you could fulfil your dream on opening your own restaurant and so people could enjoy your cooking. You always think about that promise every time you enter the small house.  

For that reason, that “playhouse” you built together, was the sole reason you were still alive to this day because one day you were sleeping under the old tree. You were awoken by the smell of smoke and fire you immediately shot up from the makeshift bed and ran outside thinking that the town or the tree must have caught on fire but much to your despair it was your house. Of into the distance on a lonely hill where the house you grew up, played around, and made memories with your loved ones was ablaze with fire that looked like they could reach the sky and smoke that started making it seem like a twilight zone. You immediately started running towards your house. Your legs and lungs slowly started to burn and hurt as you made it on top. The flames produced so much heat that your eyes started to water. The townspeople were already trying their best to quell the fire. There was a human chain system that had water bucket from the nearby river. Your heart rate spiked once you noticed that you hadn't seen your father yet. You frantically started searching for him calling out his name and checking the face any man that seem to be the same age of your dad. Soon ice felt that was coursing through your veins, that the only possible way to find your dad was that he was in the house fire. As you turned to look back at your house, the roof collapsed like your lungs. You once again broke into a sprint to your house once you reached it you tried going in but an older woman no older that your mother caught your wrist. “¡No lo hagas mija!”. In desperation you shook her hand off from your arm and tried to run in but this time you were stopped by two ranchers, the same ones you would buy milk from every Sunday morning for your mom since she never liked her coffee black. This time they managed to hold you back as you tried to claw your way out from their clutches. “¡Suélteme! ¡Mi papá está allí adentro! ¡Por Favor salven a mi papa!” You watched as they slowly pulled you way from the burning house as tears rained down your face and your memories went up in flames. 

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You were startled from your dreamless and restless sleep by a knock on the bedroom door. You were taking in your surroundings when the door opened to reveal the same women from yesterday.  

Oh Yesterday... Oh yesterday... 

The sweet lady was an old friend of your mom's. She always tried to help you with any small thing she could but as the years came; she just couldn’t go up the hill anymore. She must have sensed your sudden change of heart as your face contorted into a frown and grimace as you remembered the events the night prior. “Buenos dias hija. ¿Como Sigues?" she asked with a soft smile present on her face. Her soft hand covered your fidgety hands as your eyes began to get glossy with tears rimming your eyes. “Ay, mija...” she sighed and pulled you into a deep embrace it was probably your emotional distress of your resent events or the fact you haven't felt that type of hug your mother gave you every time you felt bad but this time the embrace had a beating heart. It was like a dam crumbling down and tears burst out has you grabbed fistful of fabric on her back as you let everything out and the sweet lady just stayed put, rubbed your back, and shushed as your tears reduced into small hiccups and sniffles.  

The older lady grabbed you hand and gently pulled you up to your feet and with a soft voice she spoke, “Vamos, mija, there is breakfast downstairs.” Both of you sat down at the table and a breakfast plate was already prepared in front of you, it consisted of scrambled eggs with sausage, refried beans, and some freshly made tortillas the same one she used to make when she was well. You stared at the plate for a few minutes before forcing yourself to start eating. The sad tension was broken when a man which face was worn down by the years came in and took off his hat as he entered. “Buenos dias, ¿Como sigue la niña?” He asked his wife before pulling her way into the kitchen and soon it was filled with hushed, rapid whispers. 

 They emerged from the kitchen once again and stared at you with worry very present to their faces as they didn’t want to tell you something. Shaking his head, the older gentleman sat in front of you and placed his hat on the table. You stared in silence back at him urging him just to spill on what he had talked to his wife. “Mija...” he started but stopped once his voice cracked but continued “We found your father-” right before you could get your hopes up on seeing if your father was okay, he cut you off before you could even ask where he is “-but he isn’t with us anymore.” You deflated as you slumped into the chair and the food long forgotten. “Can you at least take me to him or tell me where he is?” You ask hopelessly. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

“Why?”  

“Because your father wasn’t there when the fire started, he wasn’t even near when it happened” 

“Then what happened?” With that question a tension quickly formed in the room which caused you to panic and tilt your head as in question “What happened” you pressed again. You saw that the couple glanced at each other talking with their eyes as they hesitated to tell you the truth. “TELL ME!” you shouted you couldn’t take it anymore the silence was killing you. At your sudden burst the older man seemed to react he simply stood up take his hat off the table before heading to the door. “Sígueme, por favor.” You walked a few paces behind him, and you took note that his house was barely on the outskirts of the town and the direction you were going was to the heart of the town. You people stop and look at you, men taking of their hat, and the townspeople just walked in a somber silence as you walked by.  

You felt the hair behind your neck start to rise the more you walked deeper downtown. A hand was placed abruptly on your chest right before a corner to the church. The man just looked at you with so much sadness and sympathy. He simply pulled you into a quick hug and stated “Lo siento mucho mija.” ‘He is sorry? Sorry about what?’ You thought before you could voice your concerns, he pushed you back and squeezed your shoulders to let you go to see for yourself. To go where your father was. As you rounded the corner your eyes widened in shock, the image before you caused a visceral reaction that made your stomach churn and your skin crawl. You feel frozen, overwhelmed by the disturbing emotions that race through your mind. 

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Your father or whatever remained of your father was displayed in the front of the church. He was crucified but it seems that all his limbs were ripped off from the torso they were held up by huge metal stakes. Oh Gosh! His head! His head was staked on the top of the cross. The tip of the cross went up where the neck was supposed to go but worst of all you could see the tip of the stake looked like it was about to come out from his right temple. But it seemed that the eyes were already gauged out before the decapitation and the tongue ripped out and thrown carelessly to the ground. It was a gruesome sight to see. You weren’t squimish on the sight of blood or death, most of the time you always took care of the chickens since that was the only meat that your mom only enjoyed eating so this shouldn’t be new to you. But this time it was your father, your dad, that took care of you, cherished you and raised you nondifferent no matter how much he wished to have a son. 

 You fell to your knees as you coughed and choked up with your own vomit. It hurt, it felt like your whole skull burn under skin, now the lovely breakfast was now spilled on the side of the street. Your heart felt like it was being crushed as your entire world seemed to shatter into a million pieces. You gasped for air, but the tightness of your chest made it hard to breathe. Your hands shook as the weight of the situation began to sink in as you tried to hold yourself together. 

From that moment on, you vowed to eradicate every cartel and ensure they never threaten you or your home again. 

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You left your hometown there wasn’t anything for you to stay, you lost everything and everyone you cared about. That’s how you find yourself in this situation trapped in this old, abandoned house, not because the cartel managed to get their hands on you. No, you are better than that just you were in the wrong place at the wrong time you were helping a small group of drunk ladies after a night out and being the only sobber one around you decide to help them reach the nearby inn but taking care of one drunken person was hard you had to deal with three one of them.  

You were so preoccupied taking care that they wouldn’t hurt themselves that you didn’t notice men all in black approaching the group until a gruff voice broke out, “Buenas noches, señoritas, how are you in this fine evening tonight.” You head snapped back to the man that spoke and notice that he brought 2 more other men that you could see. You set the girl that was the most wasted down had their arm around your shoulder on a rock. “Buenas noches, gentlemen, is there something I could help you with sir?” You asked innocently you were new in this town, but you been long enough to know that they are not from here and up to no good. “No, but I could ask you the same thing do you need help young lady? Seems that taking care of three drunks proves to be a hassle for you, no?” he noted by closing the healthy distance with his men too. Upon saying that all the alarms of danger came in blaring in your skull as even the ladies who were a little tipsy, holded hands and hid behind.  

You could take them on, but they were close enough for you to notice that they were armed, and you just could not let them have their way with the women. You stood your ground has you can now feel his horrid smell of alcohol and terrible oral hygiene fanning over your face. His hand slowly came to reach and hold your cheek caressing it lightly. That kind gesture would be welcomed if it weren’t for the predatory gaze, he had present in his eyes as he tried to grind his knee on you between your legs. Before you could fight back the girls behind you squealed which cause you to turn and see that more men came out of nowhere. The hand being so gentle on your face shocked you as if it turned into a cobra, struck your chin, and forced you to turn back at him. This time you refused his advances by biting his thumb until you felt blood burst inside your mouth then you saw a flash of white and your whole side of the face seemed to burn and throb. You looked up at him on the ground as you felt blood start to seep from your busted lip. “¡Pinche perra!,” he shouted and landed a hard kick in your stomach. 

 You now know that you couldn’t get out of here without violence. You used your low stance on the ground you advantage. You acted fast lifting your body with your left hand and swung your right leg at the side of his knees as your body twisted right. You felt your leg connect with a satisfying pain that coursed up through your leg but seeing land on his enough for the pain to subside just a little. You launched yourself at him, your right fist connected to his jaw you were about through more before a man behind you wrapped his arm around your throat and squeezed. Your hands immediately flew to scratch him, but he didn’t budge, just squeezed more. You panicked when you started seeing black spots on your vision. You started kicking much harder and slamming the underside of your fists on his thighs. You were about to black out until your left-hand graced what you presume is a knife on his hip; enclosed your hand on the handle ripped it off from its socket and swung back on his thigh and buried it deep enough to his bone. He released you and caused you to fall forward with the knife still in hand. You gently barely hold your throat as you take in huge gulps of air, coughing during the process. The tears barely began to subside then another kick on your back was enough to make you snap back to the situation at hand. You rolled over onto your back, forcing your feet together and kick them out with do much force to send them back a few feet back giving you the opportunity to get back of your feet. You hear a shout coming behind you and head whipped to dodge the knife gracing your cheek, the knife in your hand quickly made home to the stomach. The man just grunted and froze into place as you hold him and pulled the knife back out once then twice and then once more but at the end you twisted the knife and drag it to the side and let the man fall with an ungraceful thud to the ground.  

The amount of blood that covered you was frightening but nothing new. The guy that you stabbed on the leg started to crawl away as the first man that started all this also had a knife of his own but unlike the man that it currently bleeding out on the side of the road, he was swinging and failing the knife around with so much speed that nicked you multiple times before you noticed his attack pattern. Swing left, Swing right, then a double step forward. Swing, swing, double step. Again swing, swing and block with the left and push forward and go behind him, grabbed his chin with the same force he had with you and tilted to the side and drive the blade stained with his partner’s blood home on the neck, you struggled to get the blade out once he hit the ground felt the blade slowly come out some audible spirts of blood as you push and pull the blade, you felt yourself getting weaker as the adrenaline slowly subsided within you. As you felt your blade about to get released, then a major force hit your temple, it was strong enough for you to leave the knife embedded in his neck. You landed in your back lightheaded touching the side of your head feeling your blood running down your face and down to the grounds. 

There was a loud ringing on your ears as you stare up to the night sky, in your peripheral vision you saw the man that you let live, the on you stabbed in the leg, throw a medium size rock, that’s now covered in small splatters of your blood, to the side. He slowly bend down to get a much bigger rock, heavy enough for him to use both hands and lift it high above his head. You told your body to move, to react or something as he came closer to you with a staggering leg behind. Your vision became black in and out. One side of your brain was screaming at you to force your body to move while the other, stronger, and much louder side just told you to just stay don’t move. Your injuries were just too taxing on your body. Right before he could smash your brain in, multiple shots rang out, his body fell to the ground, but he was already dead before he hit the ground. You heard steps all around you then other male face came in close to yours and smiled with a grin with crooked teeth and a horrible breath, excitedly said to his men as you barely heard, “¡Estás una chulada! Let's take her to EL Sin Nombre, he’ll give us a big prize for this girl that can cause this much damage,” then everything faded to black. 

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You woke up with a throbbing around your head it felt like rubber band squeezing eternally. Groaning out as you painfully slowly got up into a sitting position. You raised one of your hands to feel all the dried-up blood caked up on your face and immediately began scratching it off the best you could. You repeatedly open and close your eyes trying to get rid of the dizziness, once settled you took in off your surroundings. It was an abandoned rural house, the windows were caved in but covered in wooden planks, there wasn’t a door, a suspiciously stained deep brown cloth nailed onto the frame. The cloth didn’t do an excellent job of muting the sounds coming from the room next door.  

Voices started to arise and slowly made their way towards your direction until finally a man reveal behind the cloth you squint your eyes at until his imagine of the night before appeared in your memory. You are proud to admit that you haven't held hostage too many times before, but you are ashamed to admit that acting like a defenseless and dumb civilian has gotten you out in multiple situations before, so you take your chances and play with that card. You got into character and just stared at him with alarmed doe eyes as he got closer to the makeshift “bed” of you can even call it like that. Before you can play your part, he beat you to it “Cut the crap,” he mocks “I- I mean- We know that you don’t just kill people like that even if it was part of “self-defense”, I saw it in your eyes you have done this more times than you can count,” He grinned out with the same teeth damaged by tobacco and his horrid putrid smell of his breath. “That is why I have you here, alive, so you,” he points at your chest and continues “can work for me, us, for a good pay... for what you do”. “What do you think it is that I do?” You seethe between your teeth. “Simple...” he stats “kill for us. For the cartel.” Acting stupid be damn! You knew that your face gave your true intensions away because before you could even react or voice your opinion. His hand enclosed around your throat squeezing with so much force that it seemed too much from his lanky built. He was smart enough to push himself over you, caging you with a leg on each side of your body and start squeezing with both hands. Your throat must have bruises from the night before because you felt paralyzed by the immense pain for a few seconds before your instincts to survive kicked in, you tried again scratching him on the hands, but nothing seems to work. He squeezed harder and pushed you deeper into the mattress as you tried pushing him away from you or at least scratch his face to know at least you did some damage to this poor bastard. 

 The weight suddenly vanished, and you felt something wet splattered on your face. The body onto of you slump down to the side with a hole straight through his skull. A sniper. Your blood ran cold as the people on the other side of the room burst out in a commotion when a load of rounds started ringing out by multiple people. Chaos was induced as the paper-thin walls didn’t do anything to stop the bullets and your heart felt like it was about to explode within your chest. Run, run, run! Was the only thing your brain was screaming at you. You stumbled around protecting your head; running and searching for an exit as bits and pieces of debris exploded all around you. Out the back door you heard the person inside had a radio that yelled in English! “Soap, get hold of her she’s the only one who might help us find El Sin Nombre! I’ll keep a look out up here.” They were looking for you in this case, hunting you! That being said you took off as fast as your legs could. A different voice broke through the radio and alerted the man inside once more, “Soap, she running to the blue two-story house southwest from your location!” “Shit!” you cursed out loud as more shots came... above? You look up there was helicopter orbiting the whole neighborhood that you woke up in. You already had a gun that was on the body of a dead man and ran the opposite direction where you first heard the shots and killing two men that had pointed guns in your path clean through the chest. You couldn’t even pat yourself in the back for killing a moving target while you were also in the move that is a first time for you today!  

The ground started spewing upwards as bullets crashed into the ground near your feet. A sharp pain in your right calf causes you to stumble forward and crash to the floor with the momentum you had. You look down at your leg and inspect the wound, luckily it grazed your leg not before getting a quarter of a centimeter of your flesh away. You wince at the sight that started to burn and turned to look at the man named “Soap” a silly name if it wasn’t the fact that that he was currently hunting you and closing meter after meter to get you. You swiftly scrambled to get on your feet and limp to the house that had two floors. Some cartel members burst out of the house and paid no attention to you instead to Soap, you were internally grateful they managed to distract him and buy you some time. You bashed the door open with your shoulder and shot where you saw movement you swept the first floor and tried the best you could to run the second which thankfully was empty.  

There was empty bookshelf next to the door you quickly rushed in pushing it if front of the door and lodging it with wooden floor lamp stand and tie it around the bookshelf happy with your work you look out the window to find a dense forest out in the outskirts of the town. If you can make it a few yards into the forest, you'll be free. Stomping up the stairs made you snap out of the daydream and raise your gun at the door, he tried the door only to discover it was locked. “Open the door! I don’t want to hurt you!” A thick Scottish accent rang out thought the silence other than your beating heart in your chest.  'Don’t hurt you, my ass!’ you thought as you pulled the trigger without hesitation until it clicks without a bullet. Jesus fucking Christ just your fucking luck! You wasted the last of the bullets on the bastards the floor beneath you and now some crazy ass psychos are after you! Groaning out silence you start looking for another escape route until the was a huge bang at the door behind the bookshelf. 

 Bastard was launching himself to the door trying to pry it open, not choosing to shoot because he might accidentally hurt you.  You only started panicking when you heard splinters come apart at the door, that’s giving in to the repeated force. Out the window it is! Thrusting the butt of the gun to the window it shattered upon impact and chipped off the glass on the windowsill, the noise seems to agitate Soap more because he panically shouted “I know she’s escaping but I’m stuck behind this fecken stupid door! But I’m almost in, the door is about to give up!” True to his word the door did seem like it was 3 hits away of giving in. Bang! You turn to the door, and you saw his gloved hand slip in and take ahold on the side of the door near the doorknob refusing to let the door shut again. The second bang was heard when you were sitting on the windowsill, a leg on each side, and half of his body head included his head could now fit through the crack. His eyes widened as he knew your plan of escape when he saw your position. You knew he was going for the last blow as he retracted his body but this time instead of waiting for the bang when his body slammed to the door, you threw yourself out the window. You couldn’t cushion the fall and crashed to the ground it hurt like a motherfucker, but you couldn’t stop yourself from moving you started crawling and then you go to yourself up and running, limping miserably but running just a few more yards and you be free, you could taste it, tears started forming at the excitement. But then a huge force brought you to the ground once more but this time you couldn’t fight him off you couldn’t even move an inch, the force on top never budged and it was heavy enough to have your lungs struggle to function correctly. The man turned you onto your back and you were met with a horrific picture of a human skull that had deep dark blue eyes staring back at you with an emotion that you couldn’t quite decipher. He proved to be strong enough to hold both of your hands in one of his. The free hand was set the radio on left shoulder and spoke with a British accent “I have secured the running fugitive and we are a few clicks away from the forest Northwest from the location of Soap.” “We have actual visual on you, Ghost, preparing landing to proceed the exfil.” Hearing that Soap was apart a team all hunting you down made your head spin.  

Panic once again arose from you as you desperately tried to get of the clutches to this terrifying man, but he didn’t move an inch the frustration got up to you once and just started crying silently as you stared longing at the forest next to you. You were so close and yet so far. Soap meets up with this “Ghost” man on top of you. “What did you do now Ghost? You made another beautiful lady cry again. It was probably because of that ugly mask again,” he teased once he saw your position under Ghost. “Probably if you didn’t do a shit job at capturing her, I wouldn’t be so rough with her but considering she slipped from you two times was the hardest thing to watch through the scope. She was also going to escape from us that third time and I had to take matters into my own hands and here we are, waiting on that helicopter to land and take our asses home with the only person that can help us find answers from El Sin Nombre.” Soap stays quiet but through the silence there was an audible smirk present on Ghost face behind the mask. The helicopter finally landed and Ghost grabbed the front of your shirt to pull you up to your feet and before you could start running, a black plastic zip tie was placed around your wrists by Soap, you could only glare at him as a firm hand was placed behind the base of your neck as a warning to not do any funny business, at least when Ghost was near. 

 The trio got on the helicopter you were met with two new more faces. An older man that seems to have the warmest smile with crinkled eyes that had a fishing hat that looked impossible to move considering the hat didn’t flinch at the huge gusts of wind the helicopter produced. His name was Price. The other man that seem the youngest of the whole group had darker chocolate skin and had the fullest lips ever on a man with a cap that told the same story as the hat of his older teammate. He introduced himself as Gaz and with the introductions out the way the aircraft lifted itself off the ground and into the sunset sky above.  

Almost reaching the 25-minute mark and you have arrived on a small military base. Everyone got off the helicopter and in front of you there were already black SUVs formatted in a line. Everyone started walking towards the car, but you were limping, and Soap was the only one to notice and took your right arm and took off pressure on your wounded leg. Ghost turned around and raised an eyebrow at both of you. Soap simply shrugged and said with a smirk clearly present “What? It’s the least I could do after damaging some fine lady’s leg.” Once you were settled in between Ghost and Soap, even Price as the driver and Gaz the passenger. The car began to move with the help of the rear-view mirror Price made eye contact with you and said “Get yourself comfortable it going to be hours before reaching the location we need you in.” Get comfortable you did! After the stressful two days you had to experience and the amount of adrenaline you had to use took a toll on you because you fell asleep on Soap’s shoulder snoring lightly before the 30-minute mark. 

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A/N: Idk why is so graphic but I feel like it fits the story especially if its about the cartel yk yk?

And Pt.2 is in the making :3

[cauldronoflove]

'Deed I Do

Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Maddie Buckley

Rating: G

Word Count: 2.3k

Episode: immediately post-7x04, mentioned Buck/Tommy to that extent

ao3

||

Buck jogs up the front walk like there's a brush fire at his back, flame licking the soles of his sneakers and curling the stitches in the hunched shoulders of his hoodie. It's a tactical retreat; disengage, scout the land, regroup, head back in.

He hasn't let himself think since he grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter and started driving, and he doesn't want to ruin a good plan, so he just jiggles the bell until he hears movement on the other side of the door and rocks back on his heels once he does.

Maddie's voice, rounded in question, drops in and out, a quick uptick from Chim, all bowled over by a bright burst of Jee's chatter that hedges on-the-cusp of entirely understandable these days.

She's gotten so big. Not just height--even though he feels a little woozy with every quarter inch Maddie and Chim report--but personality, too. She knows so many words now, can pronounce most of them, is so inquisitive and funny without even realizing it. She's sort of his favorite person, just--watching her grow up is his favorite thing, the way she's indiscriminate about trying new foods but is adamant about her favorite books, the half-sprouted grin when she does something for herself, the way she bounces from interest to interest because she's got the Buckley combo attention span and need to experience as much as possible.

Jee's on Chim's hip when he opens the door so the moon of her face peeks out first, shifting from inquisition to squealing delight so fast his head spins. Reaching for him, she calls his name and makes little grabby hands that do a good job of summarizing the ferocious ache in his chest. It's not even a question of if he'll catch, the way she all but dives from Chim's grip, and Buck catches her underneath her armpits with a whuff of air at the unexpected weight. She throws her arms around his neck and squeezes as hard as she can.

Chim swings the door open a little wider and makes a gesture offering the foyer, his eyes darting up and down in quick reconnaissance. "You okay?" he asks, arching an eyebrow.

Buck doesn't think it's worth the pain to act like he doesn't know what it means. Chim and Hen have leveled him with that same look so often he started calling it the fess up, Buck look like two weeks into joining up with the 118. Bobby has it too, but it's less maniacal, more tender. Eddie's is sort of amused, the kind of look he shoots Chris's way when he makes an exasperated observation.

Buck shifts Jee further up his hip, tries to find the quietest part of his brain that'll register the solid weight of her, her foot shoved in the pocket of his hoodie, her tiny fingers tracing his birthmark, her unbroken stream of babble. "Uh, yeah, yeah. I was just--" He clears his throat, spitting some of her gravity-defying hair out of the way. "Is Maddie here?"

Chim's cheek puckers thoughtfully--I know, I know, Buck stops himself from saying, not trusting it won't all come out here and now--but he chucks his thumb over his shoulder at the kitchen. "Popcorn duty," he mouths, glancing to make sure Jee's still distracted. "You," he says pointedly, raising his voice to be heard over the buffer of their totally not haunted hallway. "Should go make sure she doesn't need any help." Both eyebrows go up then. "Right?"

"Right, yeah, right." He clears his throat again--he hasn't been able to get rid of the feeling of a stone pressing against his windpipe since. Right. "Uh, hey. Thanks, Chim."

"Any time, incumbent brother-in-law of mine," he says with a close-lipped smile. "Buckley Whisperer numero uno. Which I don't even have to be guess it's about time this little pumpkin rolled back to the patch, huh? You with me, Jee?"

She sighs heftily and pats Buck fondly on the cheek. In just the minute they've stood here her little eyes have begun to droop. "Love you, Bub," she mumbles, ducking to size up the drop to the floor.

He inhales shakily. "Yeah, I love you, too, Jee. Always, okay?" The second part is tangled in her hair where he presses a kiss to the crown of her head, lingering there as long as he thinks it'll take for Chim's concerned look to pass.

She allows him to settle her back on her feet and guide her hand into Chim's, casting one final glance up at him with a sleepy smile.

"C'mon, kid, let's blow this popsicle stand," Chim says, nudging her gently toward the hall that winds back toward the bedrooms. "Which is just a figure of speech, not just because of all the splinters, but because when you think about it it's a totally moronic business plan--"

Buck sighs a great gust in the entryway, sagging against the catch-all table. Adrenaline still strays just underneath the surface, longer stretches each time it rolls out until it stutters again.

"Buck?" he hears from just out of sight.

"Yeah, it's me." He trudges out of his shoes before heading into the kitchen. Rich with the scent of sweet butter and salt and edged in char because Maddie has always burned popcorn, microwave or stovetop. But Chim like it thay way, apparently. Someone for everyone, he'd joked once, grinning at her.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" she smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling up, the hand not dropping M&Ms with hollow plinks into the big metal mixing bowl full of popcorn flapping around at him for a hug.

"I, uh..." he starts as her arm settles around his middle, but the feeling in his throat cascades and he chokes on it. This, this euphoria and wonder and guilt.

Her hand flattens between his shoulderblades, he doesn't even think she realizes she's doing it, splinting him. The gentle application of pressure to relieve the strain and alleviate some of the pain.

She used to do it when he was a kid, like really, really little and his hay fever would be off the charts. She'd soothe him back into regular breathing, hand on his back, a stream of platitudes that never felt empty when she made them. She knew the Wizard of Oz by heart and would recite it because the voice she did for the Cowardly Lion always made him laugh.

It's been twenty years since she's done it, probably, but he sways into it with relief, trying to ignore the ticking down inside his head about second nature and sense memory, about shit that gets buried all the way down and how eventually it all comes back up.

He sneaks a blue M&M, gritty with salt crystals, out of the bowl, and rolls it around in his mouth until the shell's gone and the rest of his mouth must look as bruised as the inside of his cheek is from biting it on the drive over.

"Do you remember the, like that summer when Nana broke her hip and, and Mom and Dad didn't want to take me with them to Harrisburg so you came home for two weeks?"

Sixty bucks of pizza money stuck to the fridge. 'You're thirteen now, Evan, you're not a baby, you don't need a babysitter.'

He watches her carefully out of the corner of his eye for any sign he's stepped too far back, brought up something she doesn't want in this house. Aside from the way just the corner of her mouth dips, she doesn't lose her stride.

"Yeah," she finally says on the inhale. She shakes her head slightly. "I haven't thought about that in years, what made you think of that?"

He snags two more candies, yellow and red, and slides them between his molars for balance as he retreats from her touch. Propping his elbows up on the counter, he fingers at an unspooling thread at the cuff of his sleeve, careful not to look at her so he won't lose his nerve. It feels like it's going to rip out of him, crack his jaw like the Jaws of Life and come tumbling out in hot, twisted metal indiscernible from human remains.

"What you said at the call center. About the Sarahs?" He's hedging, he knows that, but if he doesn't keep a foot on the break he's afraid he won't be able to stop the skid. "It just snagged something, I guess. You know that's the summer I had my first kiss? I don't, did I ever tell you that? It was, uh, it was really bad."

He can laugh about it now. Does, just a little. But the forgiveness can only cover so much and his muth dries with the short-sheeted breadth of it. "Lori Bowers bet me I couldn't climb to the top of the Vernon's big oak tree, and I got up okay, but my foot kind of...slipped, on the last branch on the way down. I was fine! I just had the wind knocked out of me. It hurt like hell, but Lori came over and told me how cool she thought it was that I'd done it, and that she didn't actually have the shiny Charizard she'd bet me, and then she kissed me and ran off. But she, uh, she had these braces--" He bares his teeth, gesturing with the L bracket of his thumb and index finger. "--and it was a weird angle and she cut my lip. So I was, I was on the ground, still, and my lip was bleeding, and my head hurt, and I was just like--wow, you know? Like that's it. And I was totally convinced kissing sucked until I took Bridget Thomspon to junior prom."

"Buck..." she says, in that gentle way of hers that makes him feel like he's six and sixteen and twenty all over again. The voice that makes him think of antiseptic and Superman Band-Aids and Stouffer's lasagna.

"Which is funny, right, because I-I'm that guy. Or I was thay guy. I've been that guy. Who just--like whoever. I mean, I wanted to, but it took time, to be good at it, but it got good and--" The words keep coming, rucking up around his shoulders, cramping the back of his neck, pressing against his chin like the pad of a thumb that's calloused and disproportionately gentle.

"Buck," she repeats, reaching out for his shoulder. "What's going on?"

"I sort of, I kissed somebody. Um, like, a few hours ago, I guess. And it was good, on the first try. It was really, I didn't even...."

Shit, he thinks, heat crawling up his throat. Attraction and embarassment and a grating twinge like bone on bone.

He can feel her frown, but her hand still hangs between them. He's spinning out so quickly and she's still reaching out for him.

"Okay, I don't think I'm following. You said you and Natalia broke up a while ago, right? So what's the problem?"

"Yeah, no, of course. It's fine. Like, I'm not, it's not a cheating thing or anything. Free and clear. But there's, I think it might be...more complicated than that."

"Okay," she rolls out, a diffusing half-smile twitching at her mouth. "Buck, you have to give me something. Unless you want to play 20 questions? I might be a little rusty. Is it someone from a scene?"

"It was Tommy," he blurts, and it's too loud to his own ears, fighting to be heard over the blood pulsing in his head and the thrill shooting up his chest like acid.

"Tommy?"

He'd chucked his hoodie on over the shirt he'd been wearing when it happened and it's like he can still feel the imprint of heat that had pushed between them. He taps the side of his fist against his chest, digging the fabric of his shirt against his skin in an unconscious repetition. "Yeah," he murmurs, ducking his head in a sudden rush of bashfulness.

"Kinard?"

"Don't know any others."

"But I thought that you--" He can actually hear her teeth click when she jerks to a halt and it sends his shoulders cringing up to his ears.

"Maddie?" he prods quietly, not wanting to but catching her eye so he can try to disassemble whatever she's thinking and offer it back to her better, neater. "I-I, uh, it doesn't, I don't even know, you know, what it. What it meant."

"Evan," and her hand settles firmly against his elbow. Whatever she was going to say slips away, her care too insistent. "I'm not upset. It's just...Tommy?" A laugh shocks out of her and her eyebrows draw together as she tries to force it back in. "I thought he was your arch-nemesis," she gets out from behind her hand, but that's all before she dissolves into a hiccupping laughter against his shoulder that unspools at least half the threads gone tight in him.

He goes boneless, practically, sinking onto his forearms, silent laughter shaking his shoulders, a helpless grin rooted firmly in place. "Uh, yeah, me too, but I guess--" His nose crinkles. "Maybe not?"

"Maybe?" she repeats, knuckling at the tears slipping from the corners of her eyes.

"Definitely not. Or at least--I mean, we apologized, to each other, and then we, and then, uh, he sorta...asked me out. On a date. So...probably not, right?"

"Mm, it depends, I think," she jokes, pressing their shoulders together. She has to tip her head back even at this angle, but her eyes are smiling, and there's a familiar tilt to her tone. "Did you say yes?"

"Yeah," he says and he can't keep the stupid grin off his face. "Uh, yeah, I did."

"Then probably not," she agrees.

He chuckles to himself, bumping his shoulder off hers. Asking, yeah? with a shake of his head.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Can I request a another part of Poisonous love. There's another god from different pantheon who wants the (reader)'s love. That god heard about reader and her sacrifice, causing him to fell in love with (reader). But that god doesnt like Heracles, so he decided to fight heracles for (reader). However, all greek pantheon became heracles back up. That god also have back up. The rest is yours to write. Thank you in advance.

-Hercules couldn’t help but smile down at you as you were fast asleep, curled up next to him, breathing softly, your mouth just slightly parted.

-This was his favorite time of day, watching you sleep, seeing you so peaceful, without a care in the world, you looked so beautiful.

-He brushed some hair from your face, his knuckles brushing gently against your cheek, his smile widening, wanting this moment to last forever.

-However, that peace was about to be shaken by another person who adored you, falling easily for you after he learned about you, learning what you had done on earth.

-He had never seen such a brave woman before, and for you to be a human, he was stunned, his opinion on humans changing, but only for you! He had to have you as his own!

-Kand sought you out, coming from the Norse pantheon to where you lived in the Greek pantheon, with a beautiful bouquet.

-He found you alone in the gardens, reading quietly, and he immediately came over, kneeling down, “Marry me!” you froze, looking up from your book in shock, “What?”

-Kand looked up at you with adoration, like you had hung the stars in the skies just for him while you had flushed red, stammering lightly, panicking.

-A hand clapped down on his shoulder and you gasped, seeing Hercules there, “Hercules!” you were only a little scared, afraid he thought you were cheating on him as Kand turned, glaring up at the massive god for interrupting.

-He stood, leaving the bouquet in your hands after he had forced them onto you, “You need something? I’m busy right now.” Hercules’ eye twitched lightly, trying to control his temper, he wasn’t a jealous person, as he trusted you, but seeing how forward Kand was being with you, infuriated him, “Y/N is already in a relationship.”

-He didn’t say anything else, only stating the fact that you were already taken, hoping Kand would take the hint and leave you alone as you stood, the bouquet and your book forgotten, panicking that they were going to fight.

-Seeing you move, Kand immediately whirled around, pulling you into his arms, “Come my darling- there’s too many ruffians around!” you squeaked in fear from being grabbed so suddenly and instantly you winced as Hercules grabbed him, pulling him away from you and threw Kand over a hedge.

-Hercules picked you up, holding you carefully as your arms went around his neck, hugging him tightly as he quickly made his exit, wanting to get you out of the area, his anger growing as he felt you trembling.

-The other Greek gods, who all adored you, were furious to learn about how you had been treated- while he didn’t hurt you, Kand did scare you with his sudden actions.

-Kand ran back to the Norse pantheon, telling anyone who would listen about how he had been treated, getting all of them fired up to retaliate, except for a select few.

-When the Norse gods stormed the Greek pantheon, demanding to see Hercules, they were ready for a fight, having anticipated this, as Kand wasn’t a vengeful god for no reason.

-Zeus and Hades tried to smooth things over, explaining what Kand had done to you, and while some did back off, Kand did not, demanding to duel Hercules for you.

-Zeus, not seeing Thor or Odin, left to call Odin, curious if he knew what Kand and the others were doing in the Greek pantheon.

-Hercules approached the Norse gods, many of them jeering while Kand was smirking, planning on taking you away while Apollo was standing back with you while you were panicking.

-Kand punched Hercules across the face, not hurting him, but worrying you, “Hercules!” as Hercules refused to fight back, no matter how much he wanted to as Kand mocked him, “Aren’t you going to fight back, demi-god? You’re going to lose Y/N if you don’t fight back!”

-You were quickly in tears, seeing Hercules just taking the punches, as the other Nordic gods were stunned, not seeing him fight back, which infuriated Kand, “Fight back! Hit me! Are you scared?!”

-Hercules caught his next punch, but didn’t hurt him, “I’m not fighting you- not because I’m not scared of you, I’m not fighting because Y/N is not a prize to be won.”

-Your eyes widened, and Apollo smiled softly, letting you go and you ran to your lover as Odin spoke, “I agree.” Kand turned, afraid, seeing Odin there, his arms folded, glaring down at him as he tried to come up with an excuse.

-You made it to Hercules, who turned, smiling softly, not overly injured, just a little bruised, as he could handle most anything as you cupped his cheeks, “Are you all right?”

-Kand turned, seeing you there, his eyes wide before he grabbed your wrist, making you cry out as he jerked you, “Y/N- did you see?! That coward Hercules refused to fight me for you- he’s no good for you!”

-As he said this you were struggling, trying to get free and Hercules, not willing to sit and see you being accosted, threw his first and only punch, sending Kand flying back, making him release you.

-Hercules had your hand in his immediately, checking it over, “Are you okay?” you nodded softly with a small smile, glad that he was there, “I’m okay Hercules.

-Odin put his hand on your head, ruffling your hair gently, as he enjoyed conversations with you as he spoke, “Kand won’t bother you again- I’ll make sure of it.” The other Nordic gods were quick to agree, as they had seen how he had grabbed you, seeing the madness in his eyes, before seeing how gentle Hercules was with you.

-That night at home, Hercules held you close while you laid on top of him, stroking his bruises gently, “You’re sure they don’t hurt?” he just chuckled, not looking bothered, “Not in the slightest.” You smiled softly, pressing a soft kiss to his lips which made him hum quietly, “Thank you for defending me.”

-He just smiled, wrapping his arms around you, “I would always defend you. I love you Y/N.” you blushed cutely, murmuring the same back to him which made him chuckle before he gave you a small squeeze, before rolling over so you both could sleep.